


Clan Lukra: general drabbles, volume 2

by Lukra (49percentchanceofbees)



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 22,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49percentchanceofbees/pseuds/Lukra
Summary: General drabbles and history of Clan Lukra from early 2019 through the present. Distinct arcs and multipart writing posted separately in same pseud.TW's/CW's in notes on individual chapters; most chapters have none.FR tumblr/lair





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Ammanas](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33573742) notifies [Lioska](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22151204) that [Treat's](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=37023144) [death](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688047/chapters/43458965) has left the clan without a competent chef, then seeks to recruit [Abrianna](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47777870) \-- and, by extension, her daughter [Cynfor](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49625609) \-- to solve this problem.

“Lioska, we have a problem,” Ammanas said.

 

Lioska looked down at him. “Last time I checked, Ammanas, we had quite a number of problems.”

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Ammanas snapped, an uncharacteristic outburst. Then he looked down, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

 

Lioska accepted the apology with a silent nod. “What did you come here to tell me?”

 

“We’re running out of food.” Ammanas ran a claw through his fur. “Or, rather, we’re running out of food that can be easily eaten with a minimum of preparations. We have plenty of supplies, but with Treat gone … Our beastclan workers are struggling to keep up, especially with most of the kitchen destroyed.”

 

“How long do we have?” Lioska said, closing her eyes briefly. She should have foreseen this problem. After all, a clan, like an army, marches on his stomach. And it wasn’t just their clan -- a lot of the pilgrims had left as quickly as they could, after the catastrophe, but quite a few stayed. They might be injured, or have unfinished business here -- a few had eggs incubating in rented nests, under Nesita’s supervision -- or they might simply not care what catastrophe had occurred here, as long as it wasn’t going to happen to  _ them _ .

 

“A week? Maybe a bit more. I wanted to let you know as soon as I found out.” Ammanas looked worried. “I figured we’d need time … I mean, I’ve prioritized the kitchen, as far as rebuilding goes, but we can’t, uh, rebuild Treat …”

 

His voice trailed off sadly: he had been close to the now deceased pearlcatcher chef, and had taken her death hard; his primary coping mechanism seemed to be throwing himself into the work of rebuilding, which Lioska could appreciate. They had all lost someone, and she’d made rebuilding her own cause, too.

 

“A week.” It was better than no notice, Lioska supposed, but it would be difficult to find someone qualified to feed all those people in that amount of time -- the nearest friendly clan that they could possibly source someone from was four days’ flight away. She rubbed her head, then remembered that she ought to give Ammanas an impression of strength, a feeling that she was in control. “We shall simply have to find someone capable of preparing meals in that time, then. I shall send letters as soon as I can.”

 

Ammanas hesitated. “Well … there is a possibility.”

 

“Oh?” Lioska raised her head. “I wouldn’t have minded you mentioning that sooner, Ammanas.”

 

Ammanas nodded. “There’s a dragon staying in the Pilgrim’s Rest -- or what’s left of it -- who I heard talking to Treat on a couple occasions. They didn’t, uh, they didn’t really seem to get along, but from the way she talked, I think that guardian might know how to cook. I could ask her …”

 

“Please do,” Lioska said. “She doesn’t have to be a gourmet if she can just keep people fed.”

 

“The thing is,” Ammanas said, voice growing rather delicate, “she’s Plague.”

 

Lioska looked at him for a long moment. “You mean that, I suppose, as a comment on her capabilities as a chef?”

 

Ammanas frowned. “I don’t know. I know there’s no reason to assume anything untoward -- I know it would be unfair to do so -- but, well … the idea just leaves a bad taste in my mouth, no pun intended.”

 

“Better a bad taste than nothing to eat,” Lioska said. “Go talk to her.”

 

*

 

“Excuse me,” Ammanas said. “Abrianna, was it?”

 

The guardian looked down at him, red eyes glittering. “Yes?”

 

“We happen to be having a bit of a situation, food-wise, and a little bird told me you might be able to help.” Ammanas tried a smile. Abrianna’s expression didn’t chance. Ammanas lost the smile. “Our cook died in the recent events. No one else knows how to prepare enough food to feed all the dragons here, let alone the beast-folk. I thought you might … ”

 

Abrianna smiled suddenly. “You need someone to feed many hungry mouths? Yes, I can do this. I have done so many times, at many great battles. At Rotrock I fed an entire army using nothing but their own shoes,  _ and they came back for seconds _ !”

 

Ammanas blinked, startled by the sudden force of Abrianna’s voice. Then he smiled back. “Excellent! I’m glad you have some experience in adverse circumstances, since our kitchen is a little bare-bones right now. But if you’re willing, I can show you to it right away.”

 

“One question,” Abrianna said, putting a gentle, though very large, paw on Ammanas’ shoulder. “How long do you need me? I am an old army dragon; I seek to settle down, to find a good place for myself and my little flower, who has only just been born here in your nests. She is too small to leave now, but when she is larger, I must find her a good place to grow up.”

 

“You have a hatchling?” Ammanas said, and Abrianna nodded. He frowned. “Well, I can’t say for sure without Lioska’s permission, but … what about here? We could potentially offer you and your daughter clan membership if you’re willing to stay on and help us. We’re not going to stop needing food, after all.”

 

Abrianna tilted her head. “Here? After what just happened?”

 

“It won’t happen again,” Ammanas assured her. His expression darkened. “We won’t let it.”

 

Abrianna studied his face. “I almost believe you … I will think about it. And while I think, I will cook!” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over [Isildur's](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24321014) objections, [Cypress](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=20456151) takes time to ask [Caligo](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=20100821) about his nature. Caligo chooses not to stay with Clan Lukra.

“That odd spiral is sunning himself by the stream again.” Isildur glanced down at Cypress from her perch among the rubble of what had once been the Starwood Chronicle's home -- not to mention both of their quarters. “Didn’t you wish to speak to him?”

 

Cypress jumped up from the diagram of the wreckage he’d been examining, trying to figure out how they would rebuild. “I did! Be back soon!”

 

“You're meant to be working!” Isildur called after him, sounding vexed, but she made no real effort to stop him. Cypress imagined that she didn't really want to look at the diagrams and plans any more than he did. It hurt, seeing the ruin of all their works, their lives -- and the friends they'd lost here. Most of the Chronicle hadn't survived Barholme's attack. Cypress still had Illyan's pearl. 

 

He didn't want to think about that, so instead he focused on the blue spiral, who was indeed soaking up the sun on a flat stone by the stream that ran through the Inner Sanctum. The spiral opened one eye and tilted his head somewhat inquisitively as Cypress approached. 

 

“Hi!” Cypress said, with boundless energy. “Who are you?”

 

The spiral didn't seem bothered by how quickly Cypress had leapt onto the conversation. He raised himself up a bit and said, “I have chosen the name Caligo for the moment.”

 

“Fantastic,” Cypress said, scribbling down  _ Calligo  _ in the little notebook he always carried. Isildur would check his spelling later, but he thought he'd done a pretty good job this time. “Where did you come from? Who are you?”

 

Caligo looked over at the stream cheerfully bubbling beside him. “Do you intend to subject me to such questioning repeatedly should I remain here?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

With a sigh, Caligo raised his head. “Due to that and other factors, I believe my use for this body has come to an end. But I am compelled to answer your question first. Also, though I am unfamiliar with etiquette, something suggests to me that it would be rude to leave you all with no understanding of who I was and how I came to be here.”

 

“That would be unpleasant,” Cypress agreed. “Um, you’re not going to just … die, are you?”

 

Cypress had seen enough of corpses during the recent clean-up to last him a lifetime, and he didn’t want to have to deal with Caligo’s body as well.

 

“No, I will return whence I came: here.” Caligo gestured at the stream beside him.

 

“I think Elain said that you came out of the water,” Cypress said.

 

“I  _ am _ , or was, the water, and soon shall be again.” Caligo looked over at the stream. “There is magic in this stream, you know -- always has been. And I am that magic. I was content, as magic alone; I did not require consciousness. But then the Shade tried to consume me, and unconscious as I was, I still took this form to fight back. I’m afraid it has not charmed me; I will return to magic alone now.”

 

“Wait -- ” Cypress began, but too late: Caligo’s scales flashed and shimmered and then his form became water, all at once. Cypress imagined that he saw the liquid hang in the image of a spiral for an instant before it splashed down onto the rock and was gone, just a puddle flowing away through the grass.

 

“Shade take it,” Cypress muttered. “I had more questions.”

 

But he supposed he’d gotten what he needed to know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When [Shaula](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49654296) hatches, [Nesita](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=6928626) realizes her parents are gone and adopts her into Clan Lukra. Later, [Cypress](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=20456151) discovers Shaula's artistic talent and gives her a position on _The Starwood Chronicle's_ staff.

Though Aridatha and Nesita both thought the idea terribly unwise, there had been demand from among the pilgrims for a space for nesting, somewhere where prospective parents could lay their eggs and incubate them till they were ready for transport or hatching. Freya had argued it would be good business, so questions about the type of dragon who would willingly procreate outside their own clan were abandoned and the Sanctum’s nests, long unused, opened to the public -- or, at least, to carefully-screened pairs who agreed to the conditions. Nesita would care for the eggs, not their parents -- a long-held tradition in Clan Lukra, not just for outsiders -- and parents could even leave unwanted hatchlings to join Clan Lukra or train to serve the Arcanist. (A practice not as heartless as it sounded, nuclear families being uncommon among dragons, who valued clan over parentage.)

 

It was thus that a harried and grieving Nesita found herself looking down at a soft, new-hatched skydancer and realizing that no parents had come to witness her birth or had inquired about the egg, after the recent catastrophe. With a sinking feeling, Nesita picked up the mewling baby and held her close. She would ask Lioska to send messages, of course, looking for the little dragon’s parents, but she already knew there would be no answer. They still hadn’t managed to count all the dead from Barholme’s attack -- or even find them, after the partial collapse of the Pilgrim’s Rest and total destruction of the clan’s beastclan village. All the members of Clan Lukra itself were accounted for by now, but they still didn’t know who most of the lost guests or beastclans were. 

 

“I’m sorry about your parents, little one,” Nesita whispered to the skydancer, who stopped making noises and looked at her with serious pink eyes. “But not to worry. You will always have a home here.”

 

She couldn’t imagine that anyone would object: after all, they had plenty of room now, with so few dragons left.

 

*

 

Some time later, Cypress found himself sighing over what was to be the first edition of  _ The Starwood Chronicle _ since Barholme’s attack. It was a mess. They’d made attempts to get the destroyed press back online -- Acrux had helped -- but without Illyan’s expertise, they’d failed. Finally Isildur and Bartos had come up with a stopgap measure, a way to magically copy writing from one piece of paper to another. It wasn’t as good as the press: it would take a great deal of magic to produce far fewer copies. But it would let them get out one issue, a summary of what had happened, and they badly needed to tell the world. Dragons kept arriving only to be surprised by the state of the Pilgrim’s Rest and the lack of Oracles. With the rebuilding, Lioska didn’t have time to write letters to inform each nearby clan of their condition, so that responsibility fell to Cypress, Isildur, and the  _ Chronicle _ .

 

But they would leave off after this issue, at least until they found a new printer, because it was shaping up to be a sorry piece of work. The loss of their printer and designer had reduced the  _ Chronicle _ to a messy, handwritten broadsheet, all text and no artwork. Cypress couldn’t help suspecting that half the people who ran across a copy wouldn’t bother to read the dense writing. 

 

But, as he shuffled despondently through drafts and proofs, at least it was almost done. Soon the entire world -- or at least the local clans and guests -- would see their sorry product, barely worthy of being called a newspaper, and …

 

Wait.

 

Cypress picked up a piece of paper from among the mess before him. This was not one of his drafts of copy, covered in Isildur’s notes or edits, or a sad attempt at layout. It was a simple, elegant drawing of a tree. Cypress had never seen it before, and it appeared unrelated to their work here; it must have ended up in his pile of documents by accident. But he loved it. It was beautiful, and gods knew they could use a little more beauty around here, after everything they’d been through. More specifically, the newspaper could always use a good artist …

 

“Hey, Isildur,” Cypress called. “Do you know who drew this?”

 

Isildur didn’t answer because, Cypress realized, she was not currently in the building. Drat. She must have slipped out to eat or sleep or otherwise carry out activities unrelated to  _ The Starwood Chronicle _ \-- how inconsiderate of her.

 

But that was for the best, Cypress realized, because the drawing bore a signature, and Isildur would have mocked him mercilessly for not noticing it before he asked his question. The letters curved organically around one of the tree’s branches, integrated as a part of the drawing: Shaula.

 

Who was Shaula? Oh, right: that orphaned skydancer they’d adopted when no parents came to take her home. Well, as little as Cypress wished the loss of a family on anyone, he couldn’t help being glad now, because if Shaula could draw like this, he needed to offer her a job.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The druid [Melasune](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=42743451) arrives and, after a tour from [Lioska](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22151204), takes up her task healing and building with the starwood trees in the Inner Sanctum.

“We’ve cleaned up as much as we can, but we are unsure what to do with the trees themselves,” Lioska said. “I considered using them to shore up our barricades, but there’s also the question of where the dragons once housed there will live -- space for the  _ Chronicle _ is particularly a concern.”

 

The druid Lioska had sent for nodded. She was a snapper by the name of Melasune, and apparently possessed both nature magic and architectural skill in spades, though her eyes glinted Wind-green rather than Nature.

 

“Might I make a different suggestion?” she said in a melodious voice.

 

“That is why I asked you here,” Lioska said, struggling to keep her tone from turning sharp. Regretfully, she didn’t quite succeed. 

 

But Melasune didn’t seem offended, just nodded her head again. “I have a couple ideas, then. At least one of the trunks could be used as the base for a new structure, and we might be able to return this one to its previous state.”

 

Lioska glanced up at the fallen tree beside them, a behemoth larger around than a guardian or imperial. This one had once housed the  _ Chronicle _ . “I am receptive to the idea, if you care to elaborate.”

 

Melasune turned to the tree, regarding it. “The other tree is dead, but this one is still alive despite the damage it’s suffered. We can try to lift it back to a vertical position -- I’m not sure the remaining trunk structure will be able to hold it up, sadly -- or we can work with it as it is. With magic, we can hollow out areas of both trunks, twist branches so that they can be used as scaffolding and supports for new structures. We may have to move the dead one a bit so that it no longer lies on top of this one, but there’s no need to just throw these trees away.”

 

“That seems like an effective use of our resources,” Lioska said, thinking about it. “I would ask you to consult with Cypress and Isildur and get their input into the rebuilding of this tree, as this houses their newspaper, before passing on your plans to me for approval. As for the dead tree, you can submit those plans directly to me.”

 

“Of course,” Melasune said. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to get started right away.”

 

Lioska might have taken offense that the other dragon would dismiss her, but instead she decided to approve of Melasune’s eagerness for her task. She nodded.

  
“Excellent, thank you.” Without further ado, Melasune turned to the tree, pacing along its length and peering closely at the branches. Satisfied that their rebuilding efforts were in good hands, Lioska turned away and headed back to her own office. She’d gotten lucky with Melasune, to find a dragon experienced in both nature magic and architecture, one who specialized in caring for trees like those here and incorporating them into buildings.  _ Barholme may have knocked us -- and our trees -- down, but they’re surviving and so are we. And we’ll come back stronger. _ Lioska would make sure of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Geras](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=6947922) and [Kelsus](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=94713&did=6993741) have a serious conversation about the nature of their relationship after a [realization](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688047/chapters/42318431) Geras had the last time Kelsus was in danger. Kelsus' long ago [death](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161375/chapters/30101418) and [resurrection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13161375/chapters/30101430) play a large role in their talk.

“Kelsus, can we talk?” Geras asked.

 

Flitting to a tree branch where he could look at her properly, the fae tilted his head in what Geras, after knowing him for so long, recognized as confusion. “Aren’t we talking now?”

 

“We are, I just mean …” Geras sighed. This was not an easy subject for her to broach, and Kelsus was, however unintentionally, making it harder. “I have something important I need to discuss with you.”

 

“I’ll listen carefully, then.” Kelsus folded his wings and adopted an appropriately attentive posture.

 

“All right.” Geras took a deep breath. “Kelsus, when you died, back when Zeal hit … You weren’t there to see it, but I shut down. I couldn’t … Then when you came back, I just wanted to pretend like it had never happened.”

 

“I don’t mind that at all,” Kelsus interjected. “I sometimes forget it happened, honestly.”

 

“I don’t, though.” Geras shuddered, her tail lashing. “During Barholme’s attack, when you went to find Aridatha and Nesita, I realized as soon as you left that I didn’t want you out of my sight, where I couldn’t protect you. I felt panicked, and bereft, and like a failure as a guardian.”

 

“You weren’t, though,” Kelsus protested. “You don’t have to protect me -- I’m not your Charge.”

 

“Kelsus …” Geras couldn’t go on.

 

“Yes?” His head tilted the other way.

 

Kelsus wasn’t good with implications. She was going to have to spell it out. “Kelsus, I realized then that … you are.”

 

“Are what?”

 

Geras could have screamed at him. “My Charge. You’re my Charge.”

 

For a long moment Kelsus was quiet and still. Finally he turned his head a little. “Are you sure?”

 

“As sure as I’ve ever been.”

 

“It’s just, we’ve known each other a long time -- since we were hatchlings, I mean -- and it seems like this would have come up before.”

 

Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Geras fumbled for an answer. It probably  _ should _ have come up before: a better guardian would have seen it much earlier. Any guardian worth their salt would have at least realized when Kelsus had died. But Geras hadn’t. “Maybe it’s because we have known each other since we were hatchlings -- I never really knew what it was like  _ not _ to be around you, so I just assumed the way I felt was … the default, and not Charge feelings.”

 

Kelsus considered this, fins waving gently in the slight breeze.

 

After a long moment, Geras could no longer bear the silence: she added, “But it was. Charge feelings, I mean. I never really felt the urge to go on a Search, and I wondered if that was something wrong with me, but I guess it’s because there was nothing to search for -- you were already right here with me.”

 

“Hm.” Kelsus’ wings twitched. “Does this change anything? About us, I mean, and … how we act?”

 

Geras thought about it, then shook her head. “I don’t see why it should. We already spend a lot of time together, and I mean it’s not as if I wasn’t going to protect you to the best of my ability anyway, because we’re friends. It’s just … it’s a good thing to know about myself, really. I had started to think I might not be much of a guardian.”

 

After all, what kind of guardian let her Charge die before she’d even realized what he was to her?

 

“Well, I think you’re a great guardian,” Kelsus said, his fins flapping cheerfully despite his usual monotone. He dropped off the tree branch and flapped over to his usual perch on Geras’ horns. His voice was quieter, though even as ever, when he added, “There was nothing you could have done about Zeal. I was … It happened too fast, before anyone even knew what was going on, and there was no cure. If you’d gotten closer to me, if you’d tried to help, it would’ve just killed you too, and Frip said she couldn’t bring anyone else back.”

 

Geras closed her eyes. She didn’t really want to think about those events, about Kelsus’ brief death and subsequence resurrection, but it was nice to hear Kelsus try to comfort her -- not because she believed him, but because he cared enough to do so.

 

“And we shouldn’t have to worry about that ever again,” Kelsus added. “Sovari says we’re immortal now.”

 

“Yes,” Geras said, and then: “Wait, what?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Buttercream](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49621958) sends a letter expressing their intentions of joining Clan Lukra. [Lioska](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22151204) is not inclined to acquiesce, until [Frip](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=18041467) talks her around.

It really was an extraordinary missive. Even as busy as she was, it gave Lioska pause; she glanced through it once, then had to stop and go back to consider it more thoroughly.

 

Though the scroll was long, Lioska only had to read one section of it, because most of the text was in a language she didn’t speak -- multiple languages, in fact, judging by the different alphabets used. That one section wasn’t exactly easy to follow, considering that it wove between and among various drawings -- most of them rather low in quality and idiosyncratic in content; Lioska wasn’t sure what was happening in most of them. Not to mention that the handwriting was bad -- oh, perfectly legible, but simplistic and somehow off-putting.

 

When she finally did work it out, the message didn’t inspire that much confidence either.

 

_ Hey, _

_ Got my grubby little hands on some letters you sent to beastclan leaders recently. They sucked. Nobody could tell what you were saying, which is why they got me to look at them. Whoever does your translations doesn’t know Harpy from Talonok, let alone which dialect to use. And, hey, I’m at loose ends, so I’ll come fix that. As you can see, I know my stuff. Should be there a week or so after you read this. All right, love you, bye. _

_ xoxoxoxox -- Buttercream _

 

“Now that you’re done reading Buttercream’s letter,” Frip said, and adroitly moved out of the way when Lioska, startled -- she’d thought herself alone -- tried to claw her face off. “What do you think?”

 

“I think they sound presumptuous and obnoxious and I am inclined to slam the door in their face when they do arrive,” Lioska said coldly. “They are rude and a poor writer -- hardly a widely-sought attribute in a translator -- and they should have asked for employment rather than declaring it theirs.”

 

Frip nodded, her expression understanding. Then she said, “Well, they’ll be here next week, so they’ll be joining the clan. I’ve already told Ammanas to go ahead and let them into the Inner Sanctum.”

 

Lioska glared at Frip. “On what authority?”

 

“Remember the whole ‘I’m a god’ thing?”

 

“That is unproven and -- ”

 

“And true.  _ Particularly _ of me.” Frip picked up one of Lioska’s pens and twirled it in her claws with perfect dexterity. “Lioska, you’ve been here long enough to know better than to fight me on this, haven’t you? And I promise you that regardless of the personal traits you may find obnoxious, they are a skilled translator and will contribute well to our clan. We could use someone who speaks more languages, after all, with Luna gone.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” Lioska snapped. She felt a bit bad about it, afterwards; if Frip had truly killed Luna out of mercy, to stop her from suffering while the acid that had eaten away at her flesh worked its way to vital organs, then Frip deserved sympathy, not scorn. 

 

But then again, nothing seemed to hurt Frip’s feelings, and this certainly didn’t. Her voice remained calm and light as she said, “Not mine.”

 

Lioska took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She wasn’t usually this irritable. Frip had a point: they had struggled to put together meaningful missives to local beastclan leaders since Luna’s demise. Elain, Geras, and Bartos all had some knowledge of beastclan languages, but it was always incomplete. And it wasn’t just beastclans -- there were other languages spoken across Sornieth that they needed access to.

 

“This Buttercream is a good translator?” Lioska asked.

 

“The best.”

 

“And they’ll work hard? Not disrupt the clan? Write  _ respectfully _ to our allies and enemies?”

 

“You can rely on them.”

 

Lioska sighed. She must be going mad, to take such assurances from Frip. “Fine. I’ll assign them quarters.”

 

Frip nodded. “Thank you, Lioska.”

  
Lioska blinked -- she hadn’t expected gratitude, not from that source -- and then when her eyes opened again Frip was gone, vanished into thin air, as she was wont to do.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Kelsus](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=6993741) asks new arrival [Aneira](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=50132515) about the jars she wears.

“Those are pretty,” Kelsus said.

 

The spiral, a new clan member by the name of Aneira, followed his gaze to the tiny jars strung about her body and smiled. “Thank you.”

 

Each jar shone with a speck of light inside. Some were brighter than others, and they came in different colors: blue, white, yellow, orange, red.

 

“How do you find fireflies in all those colors?” Kelsus asked.

 

“Fireflies? Oh, no.” Aneira picked up one of the jars and cradled it in her claws, turning it slowly in front of her eyes. “These are baby stars.”

 

“Baby stars?” Kelsus blinked.

 

“Someone has to look after them, just as with any other baby.” Aneira gave Kelsus a kindly smile. “They have to get very hot to truly shine, and sometimes they need a little push to do so. Or to get started at all. Or sometimes they end up separated from their siblings and get scared or lonely.”

 

“Huh,” Kelsus said. His default position was to believe her, however fantastical her words seemed. “What happens when they grow up? Do you release them into the sky?”

 

“Something like that,” Aneira said, tilting her head back to look at the twinkling lights above them in the starwood trees. For a long moment both she and Kelsus were silent, just watching the lights -- and the occasional actual star that managed to peek through the branches. “The universe is vast and cold sometimes. I’m glad I found this place to settle down and work.”

 

Kelsus nodded. “It’s nice here, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, it is.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Ammanas](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33573742) wishes [Orane](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49403966) a temporary farewell as she sets off to become a merchant.

“You’ll take care, right?” Ammanas asked.

 

Orane smiled down at the tundra, now much smaller than she was -- a fact that gave her an odd feeling, as she still remembered well when Ammanas had covered her with his wing in comfort. “I’ll be perfectly safe. No need to worry about me.”

 

“I will anyway,” Ammanas sighed. He raised a claw and patted Orane’s foreleg. “But I know you can handle yourself. I believe in you. Do you need help carrying anything?”

 

“I’ve got it, Ammanas.” After all, anything Ammanas could carry would hardly even weigh on Orane, a guardian, given the difference in their sizes. Besides, Freya had already spent days planning out Orane’s entire load, calculating precise ratios of weight and volume to value and marketability. Orane could trust that everything on her back was optimized for her to carry and sell, and she almost feared disturbing it. She would have to, eventually, whenever she stopped to rest, but that was in the future, with no one watching to see how embarrassingly long it took her to get un- and repacked.

 

Ammanas sighed. “It shouldn’t have surprised me that you wouldn’t be content to stay here. Wandering is in your blood. Just remember to come back, all right?”

 

“Of course.” For one thing, Orane thought with wry amusement, she imagined Clan Lukra would be rather annoyed with her if she just walked off with all the valuables she was supposed to trade at market. That was her new occupation, after all: trader. She’d received all the training in bargaining and diplomacy that she could possibly get from Lioska, Freya, and Ammanas; she’d honed her skills in the little market here at Lukra, which had sprung up naturally as dragons gathered outside the Inner Sanctum. She was ready to head out to larger trading posts, to test herself in deeper waters. Here in Lukra, she was a big fish in a small pond, as a member of the clan hosting the market; she was ready to see what it’d be like to be a guest.

 

And wanderlust  _ was _ in her blood, she supposed, though it wasn’t her favorite thing to hear about herself. It reminded her of her parents, and how they’d stopped at Lukra to lay their eggs instead of doing so in their own clan, and how if they hadn’t done that, they would still be alive right now. It wasn’t Clan Lukra’s fault; they couldn’t have foreseen an attack of the Shade, and they’d suffered enough from it without further blame. In fact, Orane rather owed them for taking her in afterwards, though they’d treated it as a matter of course. She did wonder sometimes what it would be like to live in her parents’ birth clan, to know more about them than their traveling tendencies -- to know  _ them _ \-- not to mention to have a brother. Searching their records, Lioska and Ammanas had discovered the clan to which Orane’s parents had belonged -- they took in rather detailed information about the dragons who chose to use their nests -- but their letter to inform that clan of the events had gone unanswered.

 

Realizing that Ammanas was still waiting on her to respond or leave, Orane pulled herself back to the present with a shake of her head. “I’ll be back before you know it, Ammanas, and the first thing I’ll do is come visit you.”

 

“You had better,” Ammanas said with mock seriousness. “Second thing will have to be a good hearty meal from Abrianna …”

 

“And somewhere down the line I’ll report to Lioska.” Orane smiled. Lioska and Freya had already bidden her official goodbyes, as the clan leader and her direct supervisor, respectively. But she’d always had a special bond with Ammanas, ever since he’d comforted her in the aftermath of her parents’ death -- she’d refused to leave his side for days, complicating all the work he’d had to do towards rebuilding, but he’d never told her off for it -- so she’d lingered here at the Pilgrim’s Rest to talk to him.

 

But now it was time to get going, while she still had time to make good progress towards sunset. She lowered her head and nudged Ammanas gently with her snout. “Now, don’t you have something better to do than stare wistfully after me? I think I just saw a bunch of new guests go into the Rest.”

 

“They can wait,” Ammanas said, smiling.

 

“Don’t let them hear that! Or Lioska, for that matter.” Orane raised her head and surveyed the road before her. “I’ll see you soon, Ammanas. Goodbye.”

 

“Fair flying,” Ammanas answered, and held his hat on as Orane took off.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Freya](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=28672270) rejects [Polemos'](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49782855) application to join Clan Lukra.

Freya ran the shimmering cloth between her claws, then looked up at the bogsneak seated across from her. “It is very beautiful.”

 

Polemos smiled. “I thought you had an eye for quality.”

 

“But why ask to ply your trade here?” Freya asked. “This is hardly a center of commerce. We are not a poor clan, but I suspect you would find greater commercial success if you took your wares to a greater market.”

 

“Call me curious.” Polemos folded their claws before them, looking at Freya with earnest Light eyes. “You have a lot going on here, with your Oracles and these ‘little gods.’ I simply can’t resist showing up to know more.”

 

“No, you can’t,” Freya said, rather grimly. She straightened, pushing the cloth away. “You don’t have to obfuscate. We know the truth, Polemos. We know who you are.”

 

Polemos had enough practice in deception that their eyes widened only slightly. No hint of guilt colored their face, even as they thought,  _ Shade! _

 

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” they said, sounding sincere in their worry. “I am but a simple weaver.”

 

Freya sighed. “So, you will not take the chance to come clean. Your dishonesty serves you poorly. Had you come to us and admitted your true profession, joined us as the information broker you are, we might have built a profitable relationship. But we will not accept you under false pretenses, so that you may scheme against us in secret.”

 

Clearly, there was no point in continuing to bluster. Polemos dropped their shocked facade for a cool, calculating expression. “Well, it looks like I’ve been out-spied. This doesn’t happen very often, I’ll confess; I should congratulate you. I would consider it a professional courtesy if you told me how you knew.”

 

“You should not try to fool gods, even little ones.”

 

Polemos considered this. If these “little gods” had truly laid bare their intentions, that argued more for their actual divinity than anything else Polemos had seen so far. But perhaps the coatl simply wished to conceal the true source of her knowledge -- Polemos certainly would have. Giving away sources was not good for business; you risked someone cutting out the middleman.

 

“Well,” Polemos said. “What happens now?”

 

They had, as always, made arrangements to ensure their safety -- secrets that would leak if they disappeared, people who did not want to see that exposure and were therefore quite motivated to make sure Polemos didn’t disappear.

 

“Morgana and Talise will escort you from the Inner Sanctum.” Freya rapped on the floor beside her, and a pearlcatcher poked his head in through the gap near the tree trunk, grinning toothily at Polemos. “You will no longer be permitted lodging in the Pilgrim’s Rest, and we recommend that you leave our lands.”

 

Ah, so they hadn’t taken excessive offense at Polemos’ attempt to infiltrate them. Polemos could appreciate such a professional attitude. So, as a professional courtesy, they’d comply. They stood, taking their scrap of sample fabric from where Freya had left it.

 

“This has been an interesting encounter,” Polemos said, smiling. “Even if it didn’t turn out the way I expected, I’m glad I came.”

 

Freya tilted her head, clearly skeptical, but she said nothing as the pearlcatcher led Polemos away.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the Pilgrim's Rest changes [Princess'](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49587046) life forever, in large part thanks to [Rhorlak](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=34457199). [Ammanas](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33573742), [Talise](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38899211), and [Lioska](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22151204) have parts to play as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: abuse, slavery, violence, murder, gore

Ammanas first knew something was wrong when the pearlcatcher finished singing.

 

He hadn’t even noticed her before then, another among the many guests passing through the Pilgrim’s Rest -- well, not as many now as previously, but still a fair amount; they still kept Ammanas quite busy. But then she stepped up in the courtyard and began to sing and dance, beautifully; everyone stopped to watch. Her wings twisted around her like silks, like fire, as her voice chimed, swooped from low to high and back, smooth and bright in a way that spoke of sunlight and crystal and free flight.

 

When she finished, Ammanas decided to go over to congratulate her, which was how he noticed her returning to her companion’s side, eyes downcast, ignoring the applause and accolades of all the other dragons in the room. The coatl accompanying her put his paw on her head and said, “Good girl,” in a certain tone. It was that and the way she smiled at him -- pleased, but also relieved, almost fearful, and never making eye contact -- that told Ammanas something was off. He stepped back, confused and unsure what to do with this knowledge. When the coatl told the pearlcatcher, “Now, go get us some drinks,” before turning back to the dragons around him, Ammanas decided that he needed to be the one to supply those drinks.

 

Handing her the tray, he asked, “Are you all right?”

 

She didn’t look up -- she never looked him in the eye -- but she sounded surprised. “Oh, yes.”

 

Ammanas wasn’t sure how far to push, but he couldn’t leave it at that. “Are you sure? If you’re in trouble -- if you need anything, we can help.”

 

She ducked her head. “You are too kind. I need nothing, thank you.”

 

Ammanas hesitated, his claws still on the edge of the tray, and she added, apologetically, “I must return to my master. Thank you for your concern.”

 

Alarm bells rang in Ammanas’ head as she walked away.

 

He went to Lioska as soon as his duties allowed and told her what he’d seen. She frowned, tapping a claw to her chin thoughtfully.

 

“I’m glad you brought this to me,” she said at last. “I’ll have to think about our options. They are limited, I believe, by the fact that the dragon herself has not asked for and in fact has directly refused our aid.”

 

“I really think she’s in a bad situation,” Ammanas insisted. “You should have seen the way she smiled at him.”

 

“I suspect you’re right, but I’m not sure we have the right to intervene, especially after what she said.” Lioska turned a pen over in her claws, thinking. “We need something more to go on if we are to act. I will tell the guard to observe them, discreetly -- I know you will likely be too busy with your duties to do so. Do you know how long they’re staying?”

 

Ammanas shook his head. “I checked their records. They didn’t register an end date.”

 

“We’ll hope that we get some solid evidence of wrongdoing quickly, then.” Lioska took a sheet of scrap paper from her desk and scribbled something down. “And I will consider whether we can act in other ways. Thank you, Ammanas.”

 

It was a clear dismissal, and Ammanas went back to his duties, which quickly distracted him from the pearlcatcher and her “master.”

 

*

 

But Lioska did tell the guard to watch the pair, and so they watched, and Rhorlak didn’t like what he saw.

 

Lioska had said not to confront the coatl; she feared that if he realized they suspected him, he might leave early, or take out his annoyance on the pearlcatcher. Smart concerns. But Rhorlak went up to the two dragons’ shared room anyway. He didn’t think he’d be having either of those problems.

 

He knocked heavily on the door, then waiting. The pearlcatcher answered, but immediately stepped aside to give him a clear line of sight to her master, lounging in the back of the room.

 

“Can I help you?” the coatl said. He didn’t sound angry or aggressive, just curious.

 

“Maybe.” Rhorlak stepped into the room. It wasn’t designed for guardians; he filled almost half the available space. The pearlcatcher pressed herself into a corner, out of the way. The coatl frowned and lifted himself a bit off his pillows, perhaps alerted by Rhorlak’s tone or appearance -- or by his decision to enter the small room rather than speak from the more spacious hall -- that something wasn’t right. “I wanted to ask about her.” Rhorlak jerked his head towards the pearlcatcher.

 

“Princess?” The coatl smiled: apparently the subject set him at ease. “So she’s caught your eye, has she? She’s quite pretty, a good singer, and well-trained too. Meek as a mouse. But I’m afraid I have no intention of selling her. Still, we might be able to work something out …”

 

*

 

Ammanas came running when he heard the screams. He wasn’t the only one: by the time he got to the scene Talise was already there, sword drawn.

 

“Now, big guy,” the pearlcatcher said as Ammanas approached, “why don’t you just let the lady out and let me bind you nice and easy and we’ll get this all sorted out.”

 

Talise’s tone was more conciliatory than usual for him, and Ammanas immediately realized why: because at the tip of Talise’s sword stood Rhorlak, who had double Talise’s weight and triple his length, and who dripped with blood. In his claws lay a mangled mass of flesh and feathers that was barely, barely recognizable as having once walked the halls as a certain coatl.

 

But even as Ammanas swallowed, hard, and averted his eyes, Rhorlak stepped back and put his claws up in a gesture of surrender.

 

“All right,” Talise said, carefully watching Rhorlak as he sheathed his sword and took out the enchanted bindings that all the guard carried, allowing them to restrain larger dragons. After he bound Rhorlak -- once placed against the skin and activated, the enchanted rope wrapped itself around the claws, wings, and jaws, strong enough to stop a guardian, or so Ammanas had to hope -- Talise turned to the open room and snapped, “Will you shut up?”

 

The screaming stopped immediately. Ammanas went to the door and looked inside to find the pearlcatcher dancer, wide-eyed and splattered with blood.

 

“Oh, Arcanist,” Ammanas said: the completed murder had barely made its way into his brain, and now there appeared to be one still in progress. “Are you all right? Where are you hurt?”

 

“I didn’t touch her,” Rhorlak said, struggling to speak through the muzzle, which would barely let him open his mouth.

 

“Then why’s she screaming bloody murder -- oh, wait,” Talise said, rolling his eyes towards the corpse on the floor. “Arcanist, who’s going to have to clean that up? I vote not me.”

 

Meanwhile, Ammanas approached the panicking pearlcatcher. He couldn’t actually see any wounds; perhaps Rhorlak truly hadn’t hurt her. But Ammanas thought it best to get her to Nesita as soon as possible anyway. He put a hand on her shoulder -- she flinched away, but he maintained the contact, speaking in what he hoped was a soothing voice. “It’s all right. He’s bound -- he can’t hurt you. I’d like to take you to a healer, all right? Can you come with me?”

 

The pearlcatcher glanced up at Ammanas, never quite meeting his eyes, and nodded. She remained quiet and compliant as he guided her out of the room, but when she saw the mess on the floor, she flinched again.

 

“My master …” she said, glancing between the corpse and Rhorlak.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ammanas said, steering her away.

 

“I’m not,” Rhorlak said.

 

*

 

“Rhorlak,” Lioska said, standing in front of the still-bound guardian on the grass outside her own quarters. Ammanas had taken the pearlcatcher away so Nesita could treat her for any injuries -- not to mention shock and trauma. That should be fine: Lioska rather doubted she’d need any witness testimony, considering that Rhorlak had made no attempt to deny his actions or even escape his bonds. Talise and Aurus remained nearby, ready to fight, just in case. “You  _ murdered _ one of our guests. I can scarcely imagine there’s anything you can say to defend yourself in this situation, but I would welcome an attempt.”

 

“He was a slaver,” Rhorlak said, his voice gruff and blunt as always. He turned his head slightly, tilting his good eye towards Lioska. There was something like accusation in his voice when he continued: “But you already knew that, yeah? You told us to keep an eye on him. You knew something was up. But you did nothing.”

 

Lioska looked at Rhorlak for a long moment, connecting dots. It didn’t take her long to see the truth -- she was, after all,  _ quite _ intelligent -- but she needed a bit longer to believe it. “You killed him because he owned a slave?”

 

“Yes.” Rhorlak’s voice hardened, and his stare at Lioska became yet sharper. “Is that a problem?”

 

“A little bit, but not for the reason I imagine you’re glaring at me for. If I unbind you, you won’t attack anyone, will you?”

 

“Not unless they attack me first.”

 

Lioska spoke the releasing spell, and the ropes fell away from Rhorlak -- she could feel Talise staring at her back, hear his claws clicking on his sword hilt, but she ignored him. True to his word, Rhorlak simply stood before her; he didn’t so much as stretch as the restraints came off.

 

“Rhorlak, we did nothing because we hadn’t confirmed the truth of the situation, nor had we come up with a good solution,” Lioska said. “I would be grateful that you had done the former had you given us a better chance at the latter.”

 

Lioska waited for an answer, but Rhorlak said nothing, so she went on: “You should know that we did not intend to leave that pearlcatcher to her plight, but we sought a way to handle the matter delicately and legally rather than by outright murder.”

 

Rhorlak turned his hard, icy eye on Lioska again. Something in his gaze made her feel like a hatchling in a way she hadn’t since grammar school. “And did you find one?”

 

“We  _ would _ have,” Lioska replied firmly. “Given a proper chance.”

 

She brushed a claw against her headfeathers. “As it is … Rhorlak, we can’t let the murder of a guest go unanswered, even knowing you sought justice and not wanton slaughter. I’m not sure what to do with you, frankly. For the moment, you will remain in the Inner Sanctum, under guard -- you will not return to duty until I render my decision. Melasune could use muscle to help with her building tasks: you will serve under her for the time being.”

 

Rhorlak accepted this with his typical stoicism, asking only, “And the pearlcatcher?”

 

“We will of course offer her a home here, but I would not be surprised if she declines, given what she’s experienced at our hands so far.” Lioska caught Rhorlak’s look and almost rolled her eyes, but she supposed she did have to specify: “She’s a free dragon now, Rhorlak. We’ll see if we can’t help her find a good home.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwisely, [Aurus](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=4302393) ventures into [Cynfor's](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49625609) garden.

Aurus’ first mistake was thinking the garden would be a nice place to take a break.

She had just finished a shift guarding the Pilgrim’s Rest, though she had only been back at Lukra for a day: the guards were short-handed. They hadn’t demanded Aurus pitch in, not after her travels -- her hunt once again unsuccessful, and it had only gotten harder since they lost most of the Oracles -- but she’d felt bad, sitting around while everyone else worked. So she’d volunteered, and now she could use a bit of relaxation after spending the day patrolling indoors.

The garden was clearly new, installed since the last time Aurus had come home, but it was coming along nicely, and the weather was beautiful, warm and cloudless. Aurus wandered inside, flying on slow, easy wingbeats, circling the flowers to admire them. It was all very nice, until one of the flowers started circling her back.

When she first saw movement out of the corner of her eye, she wasn’t alarmed. She assumed it was the wind. Persisting, it did start to strike her as odd; the thought that it might be another dragon enjoying the garden’s sights occurred to her, and she turned slowly, casually, intending to greet them.

Instead of a friendly dragon, she found a toothy green maw lunging at her. 

Instinctively, she folded her wings and dropped out of her attacker’s path. She felt the wind of its passage above her, and she looked up to see a thick stalk of thorny vine curling blindly in search of her. She flapped her wings to go around it, and it turned, quicker than she ever would have believed a plant capable of, and came for her again.

_ It can feel the air from my wings. _ Aurus only had time for that thought before she had to move again, quickly, diving and dodging -- but everywhere she went the plant seemed to follow easily, weaving through the foliage. It knew the environment better than she did; once she had to turn sharply, wing muscles screaming, to avoid a net of thorns that would have caught her and left her easy prey. And the plant following her wasn’t the only danger: she almost landed on a leaf only to notice, just in time, the other leaf hanging just above, with its sharp tendrils. As she jinked away, the plant behind her brushed over the first leaf, and the second smashed down onto it, capturing it.

While it was distracted, Aurus quickly flew away, straining her wings to put as much distance between her and the carnivorous flora as possible. She glanced back to see that the first plant had escaped and was now casting around for her, but she seemed to have gotten far enough away to stymie its senses. Chest heaving, she settled on a branch -- this one checked very carefully for hazards -- to catch her breath.

Branches swayed nearby as a great pink body pushed its way through the garden. A guardian bent her head over the plant that had tried to eat Aurus and clucked. “You look exhausted, poor thing. Do you want a snack?”

Aurus half-vibrated with horror, but the guardian only fed the plant a large beetle -- larger than Aurus was -- and patted it fondly.

“Hey,” Aurus said, half-offended, flying towards the guardian -- though she made sure to stay out of reach of the flytrap, or perhaps she ought to call it a  _ fae _ trap. “That thing nearly ate me.”

The guardian, who was a stranger to Aurus, looked up in surprise. “Oh! It’s a clever thing, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think now is an appropriate time to be complimenting it.” Aurus hated how her fae voice made her sound calm when she very much was not.

The guardian laughed. “It’s always an appropriate time to compliment my babies! You should be more careful, though.”

Now fully offended, Aurus stared at the guardian. “You keep that thing that could kill someone just out here in the open? You could at least put up a warning sign.”

The guardian sighed. “You sound like Geras. Fine, fine, if it bothers you all that much I’ll move that one inside. I can give it some special attention that way anyway.” 

She took some gardening tools from her back and turned her attention to the plants, seeming to completely dismiss Aurus from her mind. Fins closed in anger, Aurus considered berating the guardian further, but she couldn’t think of anything that would get through the other dragon’s apparent self-absorption -- or plant-absorption, perhaps. With a shake of her head, Aurus flew away. She wouldn’t be taking any more relaxing wanders through that garden any time soon.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haunted by recent losses, [Lioska](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22151204) chooses to leave Clan Lukra, bringing in [Gibralt](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47572248) to take her place.

Lioska leaned against her desk and sighed. She still had guard schedules to work out, meal plans to look over, supply requisitions to review -- she had to give Melasune feedback on the druid’s latest designs for the fallen trees, and settle a dispute between Ayers and Freya over how much ink  _ The Starwood Chronicle _ should be using. And, of course, she had letters to write. Always letters to write.

She took off her jeweled eyepiece and rubbed her face under it. The jewelry, as ever, reminded her of Aridatha: she, Aridatha, and Nessa had split the set, with the majority going to Aridatha, as a symbol of their allegiance to each other above all else.

Now Lioska was the only one left. She hadn’t saved Nessa; she hadn’t saved Aridatha. Her attempts to tell herself that there was nothing she could have done only made it worse. What was she _ for _ , if she couldn’t protect the dragons she cared about the most? If she couldn’t protect her clan? Did she just exist now to do paperwork? No one had protested when she’d taken charge of the rebuilding efforts, but as they moved on past immediate rebuilding, Lioska found herself wishing that they had. Surely  _ someone else _ in this clan was capable of making major decisions? They didn’t  _ all _ have to be left to weigh on Lioska’s mind, did they?

True, Freya handled the hoard well, and Ammanas and Abrianna knew what they were doing at the inn, but there was so much work and so few of them -- someone had to pick up the slack, and it seemed that someone was always Lioska. And there were decisions that they needed someone else to sign off on, and that someone also turned out to be Lioska. She’d had an inkling, before, of how much work Ari did, but Ari never seemed this exhausted by it -- she actually  _ liked _ it. Aridatha had found questions of how much wood to use where and who got the first crack at new books interesting, where they only wore on Lioska, making her want to scream at the dragons asking -- who cared? And then, of course, she felt guilty, because those questions  _ did _ need to be answered -- Aridatha would have answered them, and answered them well, but Lioska wasn’t Aridatha. She could not fill that role, and she was beginning to think that it was a far more vital one than she had ever played.

Lioska pushed herself back from the desk. No, her work wasn’t done, but she couldn’t face it anymore. She’d go train for a while and come back to it. It’d been too long since she’d gotten some exercise, trapped in other work as she’d been, and she needed to keep her skills sharp. They’d already seen where her lack of vigilance had gotten them … 

The wind whistled through the leaves of the starwood tree into which Lioska’s room was built, and she flinched, thinking of the empty spaces above where Aridatha and Nessa had once lived. The image of Aridatha’s room rose unbidden to her mind’s eye, and with it the image of a blue body curled on the floor as if sleeping, but too still, entirely too still … She’d had to carry Ari’s body down herself. Others had offered to do it, but it had been her duty -- she had to be the one to see Aridatha off, to be with her till the end. Sovari had taken charge of building pyres, and she’d offered Lioska Aridatha’s ashes, her voice something approaching kind for once, but Lioska had declined. So now they sat in careful storage with the mortal remains of the other lost clan-members. Melasune was thinking of incorporating the urns into a little memorial garden, she’d told Lioska, who’d said that sounded beautiful but gone away with a metallic taste in her mouth.

The tree felt so empty now, and the emptier her surroundings became the emptier Lioska herself felt, as if everything left of her were bleeding off into the void around her. That was how Aridatha had died, Bartos said -- her essence consumed by the Shade. If dead dragons went to the deities’ side, Aridatha wouldn’t make it home to the Stormcatcher.

Lioska came back to herself and realized that in recoiling, she’d shredded a pillow with her hind claws. She picked up the remains, embarrassed.  _ I can’t go on like this.  _ We _ can’t go on like this. I’m not helping anyone like this -- this clan deserves better _ . And another thought:  _ This isn’t my clan. Not anymore. It was Ari’s clan, but with her gone … _

Sighing, Lioska put the ruined pillow away and turned back to her desk. If she wanted to act on those thoughts, she needed to do it properly -- she’d never been someone to leave a responsibility half-fulfilled. Which meant that she had a good deal more letters to write.

 

*

 

“Lioska wouldn’t tell me what she’s planning,” Cypress whined. “She said I’d have to wait and find out at the clan meeting with everyone else. After everything we’ve been through together!”

Isildur ignored him. Becoming a god had not made Cypress any more sensible, she’d found, and responding to everything he said would have been an exhausting task. Though it did occur to her that there was one way to shut him up: “Be quiet, or you’ll miss her announcement. Aren’t you supposed to be taking notes?”

With a wordless grumble, Cypress turned back to his little notebook, readying his pencil stub, and then peered up at the Oracles’ pavilion. Lioska stood there, with a hooded skydancer -- a stranger -- looking over the assembled clan. Almost everyone was here: Ammanas had left Abrianna in charge of the Pilgrim’s Rest, Morgana was on guard duty, and Orane was out of town, but the rest of the clan was present. In fact, Buttercream had just arrived, completing the audience.

Seeing this, Lioska stepped forward, and the rustle of gossip died down.

“Thank you all for coming,” she began.

“Couldn’t have done it without  _ us _ ,” Cypress grumbled, even as he scribbled down her words. Lioska had asked him to place an announcement about the clan meeting in  _ The Starwood Chronicle _ and make sure everyone got it.

“Shh,” Isildur reminded him.

“I’ve called this meeting to inform you of a significant change.” Lioska took a deep breath. “After some deep consideration and reflection on recent events, I’ve decided to step down as your clan leader and leave Clan Lukra.”

Shouts rose from the audience -- some of dismay, but most of simple confusion or even just curiosity. Cypress jumped up and down, wings flapping to get him a little more altitude as he waved his pencil stub at Lioska and called her name, trying to yell out questions that he himself clearly hadn’t quite formulated yet.

Isildur yanked on his tail. “Sit down! Let her finish, you uncultured boor.”

Similar moderating influences seemed to work on the rest of the audience -- Isildur heard Nesita and Acrux requesting quiet as well -- as Lioska waved her claws and wings for silence. Soon she could speak again: “As I have fallen short in my duty to protect my clan, I wish to further my military training. I will  _ not _ fail again.”

“She didn’t really  _ fail _ ,” Cypress muttered. “Nobody could’ve expected the Shade.”

“Are you reporting or editorializing?” Isildur hissed.

“However, even if this were possible within the clan, it would occupy me too thoroughly for me to remain in my current position as clan administrator. For this reason, almost independently of my decision to depart the clan myself, I have recruited Gibralt here to take on that role.” Lioska indicated the skydancer beside her.

Another eruption of noise, mostly questions, rose from the crowd, but they quieted down faster this time, as cooler heads realized that they would get no answers by speaking over Lioska.

“Gibralt has been thoroughly vetted and highly recommended by every clan he’s ever worked with, and I have every confidence that he will take the reins with ease,” Lioska continued. “It may seem unorthodox to you to place an outside in such a position, but I believe this is best for the clan.”

“Now that she mentions it, that is weird,” Cypress said. “Why wouldn’t she pick someone already here to leave the clan?”

“And who would you choose?” Isildur asked skeptically. “Do  _ you _ want the job?”

“Arcanist, no.” Cypress frowned and looked around the crowd, evaluating individuals, clearly taking Isildur’s point. “Maybe Nesita? Or Sovari? Even Frip …”

“I doubt Frip hasn’t had a say in this, one way or another,” Isildur muttered.

“Thank you, Lioska,” Gibralt said, stepping forward. His voice sounded richer than Isildur had expected, and his hood made it hard to see just where he was looking, though his head turned across the crowd. “I look forward to serving Clan Lukra to the full extent of my ability. In the coming days, I’ll want to speak to each and every one of you to better understand your needs and concerns. I will work out a schedule for this presently. In the meantime, if you need anything, I encourage you to seek me out.”

Cypress was practically vibrating. “Oh, I have  _ got _ to talk to this guy. Isildur, tell Ayers to keep the presses warm, would you?”

“I don’t think that’s how presses work …” Too late: even as Lioska stepped back up to finish the meeting off, Cypress had started pushing his way towards the stage.

“It has been my honor and privilege to know you all,” Lioska said. A bit of a white lie, Isildur thought:  _ All _ of them? Really? “Goodbye.”

By the time Cypress got to the stage, Lioska had already retreated -- and plenty of others had questions for Gibralt, as well.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Princess'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567169/chapters/44839807) son [Cornet](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=50899482) arrives at Clan Lukra, to everyone's surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: slavery

In his two-legged shift, Cornet fit easily in a satchel on the back of the dragon-form ridgeback courier. It wasn’t comfortable, but nothing in his life had ever been, so he didn’t really mind. Nor was it outside of his experience that he received nothing to eat or drink on the way, even when the courier stopped for her own refreshments -- she left him and his bag on her back, unopened. She hadn’t spoken to him once. He only knew they’d reached their destination when she swung the bag off her back, with no consideration for the dragon inside, and plopped it on the floor.

“Delivery here for Clan Lukra,” the courier said, her voice only slightly muffled by the leather around Cornet.

“What is it?” asked a tundra’s voice.

In answer, the courier lifted the flap, tilting the opening towards the voice: Cornet looked up to see the startled eyes of a tundra in a floppy hat.

“Uh, what?” the tundra said, as the ridgeback dropped the flap, returning Cornet to darkness. “I don’t, uh, why is he being delivered here?”

“You bought him, didn’t you?” The courier sounded a bit testy -- Cornet imagined that she did not want to be responsible for anything that went wrong with the handoff. He’d already been paid for, but she still had to collect half her fee from the recipients of her package.

“I … Not as far as I know.” The tundra sounded absolutely gobsmacked.

“Is there someone else who might know?” The courier spoke slowly and with notable force, as if she thought the tundra too stupid to understand the situation.

The tundra was silent for a moment. Then: “Let me check. Why don’t you follow me to one of our lounges so you can sit and relax? You look like you’ve had a long journey. I’ll have drinks sent up. For you and your, uh, and the pearlcatcher.”

“Sounds well enough,” the ridgeback said, slinging Cornet’s satchel over her back again -- he winced as his body hit the hard knots of gembond on her scales. As she walked, Cornet wondered if he would actually get that drink. He could use it.

It scared him a little, the poor reception -- not that he’d expected his new masters to roll out the red carpet, of course, but he didn’t like the idea that they might not want him at all. What would happen to him then?

If the buyers refused to pay their half of the shipping, then the goods belonged to the courier; he’d heard her say as much to his old masters when they made the arrangements. And what would she do with him? She’d already demonstrated a towering indifference towards his wellbeing -- not that he expected anyone to dote on him, but she barely seemed willing to make the minimal effort of keeping him alive, despite how worthless he’d be as a corpse. Presumably she’d sell him as quickly as she could, to whoever’d let her make back at least a little of her lost fee. And Cornet had no great hope of the type of buyer who picked up slaves cheap and at little notice. He’d thought Clan Lukra might actually value him, given that they’d apparently sent all the way to the Scarred Wasteland for him specifically; maybe they’d at least feed him a little better, keep him alive a little longer. But apparently not.

The ridgeback left the bag unopened on the floor when she reached the lounge; he heard her sigh, first with annoyance and then with the relief of one sinking into a soft pillow, so Cornet knew she was still nearby. He himself didn’t stir, even to adjust his position for comfort. Life so far had taught him to avoid drawing notice, and he didn’t want the courier taking out her frustration at the confusion on him.

It wasn’t long before heavy footsteps entered the room, though: one of the larger breeds, Cornet guessed.

“Thank you,” the courier said; Cornet heard her claws clink against a cup.

“Long flight?” said a guardian voice.

“Not too bad,” the courier responded. But then, more sharply, as the flap over Cornet’s head started to move: “Leave that alone.”

“Ammanas said to give drinks to … your companion,” the guardian said. The flap stopped opening, but it didn’t close either.

“He’s not my companion,” the ridgeback said. “You can mess with him once I’ve been paid for him. Until then, he stays in the bag.”

“He can stay in the bag and still have water,” the guardian insisted.

“I said no. You want him so badly, tell your boss to pay me. I’ll gladly be on my way and you can do whatever you want with him.”

A long, tense silence fell. Cornet heard the floor creak as one of the larger dragons moved, though he couldn’t tell which one. Then the guardian said, “As you say,” bitterness in her voice, and her footsteps retreated, the flap falling closed over Cornet once more.

The ridgeback muttered something about “more trouble than it’s worth” as she lay back down.

At last several pairs of footsteps entered the room -- at least one very heavy. The original tundra’s voice said, “There we are! It’s all been sorted out. Rhorlak here has your payment.”

“Finally,” the courier muttered under her breath. Then she put on a more pleasant tone. “Just a mix-up?”

“Something like that!” the tundra said. Cornet thought he sounded nervous, and trying too hard to hide it. But if the ridgeback noticed anything, she said nothing. Rather, as coin clinked, she pushed Cornet’s satchel across the floor.

“He’s all yours,” she said.

The satchel opened and the tundra and a pearlcatcher, both draconic in form, pulled Cornet out of it. He glanced up long enough to take in two guardians flanking them, a purple female and a large red male, and then the tundra and pearlcatcher were hurrying him out of the room.

“I’m going to go back and see if Cook and the big guy need a claw or two,” the pearlcatcher said once they were down the hall. “You’re not going to need help managing him, are you?”

The tundra shook his head. He looked as tense as he’d sounded, and his anxiety was starting to infect Cornet. It didn’t help that sounds of commotion started to come from the room behind them as the pearlcatcher turned towards it.

“Shade,” the pearlcatcher swore, racing off.

“Quickly now,” the tundra told Cornet, moving with considerable urgency through the haphazard, tangled corridors of the massive structure in which they stood. Cornet followed at the greatest pace he could manage, considering how long it’d been since he’d had anything to eat or drink.

Finally they came to a large wooden barrier with an enormous pair of doors set within it, wide and tall enough for any imperial. Set into this huge portal was a smaller door, and the tundra unlocked this with a key he wore around his neck, then ushered Cornet through. He locked the door behind them and then seemed to relax, letting out a long sigh.

“Sorry for hurrying you,” he said to Cornet, “but I wanted to make sure to get you safely into the Inner Sanctum, in case things went poorly. Though I can’t imagine Abrianna and Rhorlak will have too much trouble with her.”

His tone turned contemptuous on the pronoun. Cornet, unsure what response was expected of him, said nothing. People didn’t usually apologize to him.

“We’ll go see Gibralt now,” the tundra said, starting away from the barrier at a calmer pace. “What’s your name? I’m Ammanas.”

“Cornet.” At least they did seem to have decided to keep him, even if something in the tundra’s behavior struck Cornet as slightly strange.

“You sound dry as desert sands,” Ammanas said, wincing sympathetically. “Let’s see if we can’t get you something to drink before we see Gibralt.” 

They emerged from a shaded area around the barrier into a little valley between two great crystal ridges, a beautiful place in the shade of several great starwood trees, into which Clan Lukra had built platforms and rooms, creating a home among the branches. It seemed like a nice place, certainly more hospitable than the Wasteland, and Cornet’s spirits lifted. Of course, nice scenery didn’t automatically mean they’d treat him well, but it did make an improvement.

A yellow-scaled guardian sat outside a pen of beasts that surrounded a sparkling waterfall cascading from the crystal ridge. Ammanas approached the guardian and called, “Geras, do you have some water? Cornet here has had a hard journey; he could use a drink.”

“Kelsus has some, don’t you?” The guardian looked upward.

“I do,” came a fae voice from among the leaves and branches above her. “A moment -- here it is.”

A green fae fluttered down with a waterskin strapped to his chest. At its size, it would only make a cup for Cornet, but that was plenty, as far as he was concerned. The fae handed it to him and studied him as he drank, making Cornet feel self-conscious: was he doing something wrong? Should he have asked for permission before uncapping the waterskin?

“Are you joining us?” Kelsus said, tilting his head. “I hadn’t heard anything about someone new.”

“Neither had I,” Ammanas said, a little ruefully. “It’s a long story, Kelsus, one I’ll be sure to tell you -- but right now Gibralt is waiting for us.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Kelsus said, taking the empty waterskin from Cornet. It had occurred to Cornet that maybe he shouldn’t drink all of it, but he’d been too thirsty to stop himself. The fae’s fins waved as he told Cornet, “I think you’re going to like it here.”

Then he fluttered off to perch on the guardian’s horns, still looking down at Cornet, and Cornet had to follow Ammanas as the tundra walked away.

They came to one of the inhabited starwood trees, and Ammanas led Cornet up the trunk -- a slightly difficult journey, clearly intended for those in dragon shape, with wings -- and into an expansive, well-lit room furnished as both living quarters and office. Here stood a well-dressed skydancer in fiery colors and a beautiful blue coatl, their heads bent together over several scrolls and sheets of paper.

Ammanas cleared his throat, and they both looked up, glancing at the tundra before turning their attention to Cornet.

“Cornet, this is Gibralt and Freya,” Ammanas said. “Gibralt, Freya, I’ve brought Cornet, the pearlcatcher I sent word about.”

“Cornet. Welcome to Clan Lukra.” The skydancer Gibralt then looked at Freya, the coatl. “We think we’ve worked out how you came to arrive here. Freya and I found records suggesting that Lioska sent away for you after we encountered your mother.”

Ammanas frowned. “His mother? You can’t mean … Princess?”

Cornet had never known his mother, not even her name, although he’d been told he got his singing voice from her.

Gibralt nodded again. “I could be wrong, since we can’t currently ask her, but I believe Lioska had some intention of reuniting Princess with her children.”

Cornet thought of Idlin, long ago sold away from him, and of course Ridley, lucky Ridley, for whose freedom their father had given his life. And he was the one who got to meet their mother? Hoarsely, he said, “She’s here?”

Ammanas’ face fell. “No. She chose not to stay with us. I’m sorry.”

Cornet’s throat tightened, too much for him to voice a response, but he didn’t cry. Why had he momentarily expected anything different? What did it even matter? It wasn’t as if meeting his mother would actually improve his life in any meaningful way. They didn’t know each other. He couldn’t blame her for not sticking around to see him.

“She may not have known you were coming,” Ammanas said, kindly, as if he’d read Cornet’s mind. “Lioska certainly didn’t tell anyone else.”

“She didn’t even leave note of your impending arrival for me,” Gibralt said, sounding miffed. 

“Nor did she tell me what she’d withdrawn the money for,” Freya added in a similar tone. 

Gibralt sighed as if in forgiveness. “I imagine she had a lot on her mind, and this simply fell through the cracks.”

That didn’t surprise Cornet: he’d always been the first thing to slip people’s minds, the first one to be denied food in a crisis. Well, not the first -- his singing voice did make him a little more valuable than many of the other slaves, a little more important than, say, Idlin. Still, he didn’t expect much attention to be paid him here.

But he might venture a question, since he hadn’t been reprimanded for the last one. “Excuse me,” he said. “What are you going to do with me?”

The other dragons looked at him in faint surprise, as if the concept of  _ doing something _ with him had not occurred to them.

“You’re a free dragon, of course,” Gibralt said, his tone suggesting that this should have been obvious. “We do not abide slavery. The courier who brought you will face justice for her involvement in dragon trafficking.”

Cornet blinked, baffled by both announcements. He’d thought a lot about freedom, once, just before and after Ridley’s departure -- when there’d been a hope for it, and when he’d resented his father for not offering it. But those thoughts had faded as it became clear that it simply wasn’t meant for him. Now that he apparently had his freedom, he had no idea what to do with it. What did it mean, for him to be free? What was he allowed to do?

And punishing the courier? She’d only done her job. Cornet could hold no ill will towards her, not when she’d apparently brought him to his freedom.

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Ammanas said, kindly, clearly seeing Cornet’s confusion, “isn’t he, Gibralt?”

“Of course. We did bring you here, after all; it would be unconscionable of us to turn you out with nowhere to go. Or if you prefer to go somewhere else, we can arrange for that as well.” Gibralt looked expectantly at Cornet.

Asked for the first time in his life to take control of it -- to make a decision for himself, rather than have it made for him -- Cornet had no idea what to say. 

He could look for his mother, it suddenly occurred to him. But no: she’d clearly moved on. What about Idlin? Could he convince these people to buy and free his brother as well? That seemed like a lot to ask when they had already been generous enough to free him, and to let him stay with them.

Maybe he’d figure that out later. For now, Gibralt was waiting for his answer, so Cornet chose the simplest one: “I’d like to stay here, if that’s all right. I can sing for you.”

“Of course.” The skydancer turned to his papers. “I’ll assign you quarters right away, if you’ll wait a moment.”

Ammanas cleared his throat. “Cornet, are you hungry? I’d like to take you to get a good meal. You look like you could use one.”

“I am,” Cornet said. “I -- I would like that.”

Ammanas nodded, smiling. “Let’s see if we can’t make you comfortable here.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Cerys](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=50285680) arrives at Clan Lukra, driven by a divine calling to serve the little gods. Her devotion confuses [Abrianna](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47777870) and [Ammanas](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33573742), but [Frip](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=18041467) and [Acrux](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=12341839) take her in.

“I’ve come to serve the new gods,” Cerys said.

 

“Very nice,” the purple guardian said absently. “You got your stew?”

 

“Yes,” Cerys said, holding up a bowl of stew that she’d taken from one of the guardian chef’s beastclan assistants. “When can I see them?”

 

“Who?”

 

“The gods.”

 

Still not really paying attention, the guardian wrinkled her snout. “Well, they say sometimes, if you are very good and pray very much, you might have a vision of the Eleven.”

 

“I’m not talking about the Eleven.” Cerys was growing impatient. “I’m talking about the newborn gods -- if you do not know of whence I speak, is there someone else whose counsel I might seek?”

 

The guardian shrugged. “Ammanas will be back soon. Until then, enjoy your stew.”

 

Cerys’ pride rebelled against being dismissed in such a cavalier manner, and for a moment she thought perhaps she had been wrong to come here. But no: the gods had called her. If their current servants were fools, that offered only more evidence of how badly they needed her.

 

She wandered the inn while she waited. “The Pilgrim’s Rest” was a good name, almost prescient. There certainly would be pilgrims, if she had anything to say about it. The inn itself struck her as a little makeshift, its construction a bit haphazard, but it was spacious and could accommodate many travelers, and she appreciated that.

 

“Excuse me,” said a tundra in a floppy hat, stopping Cerys as she wandered through an upper hallway. “I heard you wished to speak to me? I am Ammanas.”

 

Finally, some decent service! Cerys smiled at Ammanas. “Yes. I have come to serve the gods, and I wish to see them as soon as possible.”

 

Ammanas paused. “You want to see … the gods? I don’t think that’s something I can help you with.”

 

Cerys smile vanished. “You cannot escort me to the gods who dwell within? Then  _ who can _ ?”

 

A frown marked the tundra’s face; he considered her words for what Cerys thought was an inordinately long time. Finally, he said, “I think I may have misunderstood you. To which gods do you refer, exactly?”

 

“The gods who dwell within,” Cerys repeated, gesturing in the direction she thought led to the land between the crystal ridges. “The newborn gods, who rose recently out of the ashes, whose ascent I felt from the other side of the continent, as they called me here to serve them.”

 

“I see,” Ammanas said, his tone somewhat guarded. “In that case, I will arrange for the clan leader to interview you, and we’ll go from there. Does that suit you?”

 

“You expect me to wait longer?” Cerys said, impatient. “The gods called me here. I cannot imagine they enjoy waiting.”

 

“Unfortunately, they have said nothing to me of the matter,” Ammanas replied. Cerys narrowed her eyes: she thought she heard an insulting note of irony in his voice.

 

“No, we haven’t,” agreed a nocturne from behind them, and Cerys threw herself to the floor in reverence as the full aura of godhood flared into her senses. Then it subsided.

 

“Frip,” Ammanas said, with an exasperation that bordered on blasphemy. “You know about this, of course. I would have appreciated a heads-up.”

 

“It’s more fun this way,” said the nocturne. “Also, I forgot.”

 

“Your Worship,” Cerys said, raising her head but not the rest of her body. She tried to continue but found herself speechless. What did you say to a god?

 

“You can get up,” said the goddess. Frip: Cerys turned the name over in her mind, tasted it on her tongue. She’d be saying it a lot, she imagined. “You’ll find little reverence here, I’m afraid. But you should talk to Acrux. He’s our first convert, really; no one else believes, even our deities themselves. We’ve all been too busy to think about it, honestly. Which is why we need you here.”

 

A god herself  _ needed _ Cerys. She practically glowed with pride. “Of course, Your Worship. I am delighted to serve in any way you require.”

 

“Hm,” Frip said, tilting her head to consider Cerys.

 

“Well, you seem to have this handled,” Ammanas said briskly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just return to my duties.”

 

Frip nodded. “I’ll take Cerys from here.”

 

Cerys hadn’t introduced herself, but it didn’t surprise her that Frip knew her name. Divine insight, of course.

 

“Precisely,” Frip said, clearly having read Cerys’ mind. “Let’s go talk to Acrux.”

 

Acrux was an imperial, as it turned out; he lived in a massive lean-to full of ticking, clicking clockwork things. He looked at Frip with a wary eye when she led Cerys inside.

 

“You’ve come to worship the little gods?” he asked Cerys, saying nothing to Frip.

 

“Yes. I heard their song calling me from across Sornieth, felt their rise. I knew I had to come.”

 

Acrux nodded reluctantly. “I … started to doubt myself, as things quieted down. But if you hear it as well, I know I’m not mad.”

 

“You’ve never been mad,” Frip said.

 

“You wouldn’t think so, I suppose,” Acrux said, with a certain bitterness in his voice, a clear dislike that rather shocked Cerys. He wasn’t ignorant like Ammanas -- if he knew Frip was a god, how could he be so disrespectful?

 

“He doesn’t like me, Cerys,” Frip said. “Hasn’t since … well, for quite some time.”

 

“I don’t dislike you,” Acrux corrected, sounding a tad apologetic. “I just don’t trust you.”

 

“Fair enough.” Frip grinned, her teeth very white in the dark crystal of her face. “Though if you had all the information at hand, you’d consider me perfectly straightforward.”

 

“Then give it to me.” From his tone, Acrux didn’t expect her to comply.

 

“No.” There was a smile in Frip’s voice, but her tone made it clear that she would not elaborate.

 

“Excuse me,” Cerys broke in. “I would like to get down to work, if you don’t mind. Who are the gods? What are their domains? I can sense only so much.”

 

“Frip, Sovari, Nesita, Delemont, Bartos, Cypress, Kelsus, and Geras,” Acrux offered at once. “As for domains … I’m not sure. How do I tell? I can differentiate between them easily enough, get different sensations from each, but it’s hard to put into words …”

 

“Fate, chance, healing, violence, knowledge, curiosity, rebirth, and strength,” Frip rattled off. “An odd little pantheon, isn’t it?”

 

Cerys wished she’d brought the materials to take notes. She wasn’t sure she could memorize those words, not without asking Frip to repeat them, and she found something unpleasant in the idea of asking a goddess to repeat herself.

 

“You’re Fate?” Acrux asked.

 

“It’s the best word for it,” Frip replied. To Cerys, she said, “You should know that only Sovari and I are truly aware of our status. The rest haven’t yet come to terms with what they are.”

 

“Should I tell them?” Cerys asked, feeling a bit apprehensive at the idea of having to convince gods of their own divinity.

 

“You’ll have to help them figure it out, let’s say.” Frip sighed and yawned. “Mm, that’s all for me for now, I think. I’ll leave you two to your counsel. Don’t worry about talking to Gibralt, either -- I’ll make the arrangements for Cerys to stay. Well, thank you for coming, Cerys, and here’s to a long and fruitful relationship.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When his mother, [Cynfor](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49625609), asks him to pick a career, [Kyro](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=51091008) decides he wants to stay exactly where he is -- in the nursery, taking care of hatchlings, a role previously belonging to [Nesita](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=6928626).

“Don’t you think you’re a little old to live in the hatching grounds?”

Kyro took his sweet time in answering his mother, first making sure that he thoroughly chewed the notocactus that comprised his lunch. Then he said, mildly, “I like it here.”

Cynfor gave her son a puzzled look. She cast her gaze around at the two baby guardians play-wrestling in the grass. Four nests of Arcane crystal marked the center of the nesting grounds; they sat back towards the great crystal ridge that enclosed the Inner Sanctum, safe and sheltered. The shallow, gentle stream that ran through the Inner Sanctum cut flowed between the nests and into a hole in the ridge, carefully netted off to prevent any clumsy or over-adventurous hatchlings from ending up inside. Along the ridge, a lean-to ran south from the nests, providing housing for even the largest of half-grown dragons. An oblong fence encompassed the lean-to, the nests, and the space around them, marking out the official boundaries of the hatchery.

Kyro lay by this fence now, eating lunch, while his mother sat on the other side.

“You know you can’t stay here forever,” she said. “You’re an inch from grown -- hasn’t Nesita talked to you about finding a profession? Deciding whether you want to stay here? Beginning your Search?”

“Nesita’s very busy,” Kyro said. “We haven’t had much time for conversation.”

The truth was, he felt no desire to leave the nesting grounds, even if he had to admit that he really was getting too old for them. Quite a few children born after him had already made their plans and left Clan Lukra. He enjoyed the company of the younger dragons -- including the very young dragons -- and they liked him, too. And who was going to complain? Nesita? She was barely even around, with so much else to occupy her. Turned out that quite a lot of people wanted to speak to a god of healing. Kyro didn’t really blame her; he could tell she was doing her best. But it often felt like she only paid attention to the hatchings when a crisis arose -- he couldn’t even say she was always putting out fires, because he’d done his fair share of that, too.

“Oh, here she comes now,” Cynfor said, with a sort of determination in her voice. “Hey, Nesita! Over here!”

The purple tundra diverted from her original path towards the nests, coming to stand at Kyro’s side. “Do you two need something?”

Though she made herself smile, she looked tired. Kyro felt a surge of compassion for Nesita. Apparently divinity had not given her the energy to go with her expanded duties; she was stretched thin.

“Kyro and I were just talking about finding him a career outside the hatchery,” Cynfor said, willfully misrepresenting their conversation. “He can’t stay there forever, after all -- there isn’t room!”

“Actually, we have plenty of space, with all the building we did a while back,” Nesita said. She glanced at Kyro. “It’s true that our facilities here weren’t built to accommodate a full-grown guardian, but we only have a few hatchlings at a time. As long as you’re fine with close quarters, Kyro, there’s no need to rush you out.”

Kyro nodded gratefully. “I really don’t mind. I like being close to the other hatchlings, so I know if they need something.”

Cynfor frowned, but Nesita seemed to appreciate this statement; she smiled at him and added, “I appreciate all the time you’ve put in to caring for the other hatchlings, by the way. I don’t think I’ve gotten the chance to thank you before, but you have made my life a lot easier.”

“And I would like to continue to do so,” Kyro said, seizing his chance. He hadn’t really thought through the idea he was about to present -- it had only just sparked half-formed into his mind -- but he couldn’t help running with it. “Nesita … With, of course, great respect, I have to say that you haven’t been able to put much time into the hatchery lately.”

Nesita frowned, her expression hurt -- but she didn’t contradict him. Cynfor, meanwhile, simply looked confused; she hadn’t seen yet where Kyro was going with this.

“I’m not blaming you for this,” Kyro continued quickly. “You’re a busy dragon. You’re a  _ god _ . Dragons and beastclans from across Sornieth come seeking your insight into medical matters.”

It couldn’t hurt to flatter her, he figured.

“But hatchlings need someone to give them their full attention. I’m sorry, but you haven’t been able to do for a while now.” Kyro remembered that she’d been around more when he himself had been very young -- but even then, he hadn’t received much of her attention. Not that he felt neglected or anything, but there was a definite distance between them. “They need to be a priority, not someone’s second job.”

Nesita opened her mouth with almost an angry look, then stopped. She closed her eyes in a moment of solemn, almost regretful reflection, and Kyro didn’t rush her. If she didn’t agree with him -- if she told him he was off-base and needed to grow up and get a real job already -- he was lost. He’d never be able to fight Nesita’s influence in Clan Lukra, even if he was right.

But: “You’re right,” Nesita said, her eyes downcast. “I should have known -- some part of me has known, but I didn’t want to admit it. It hurts me to say it, but I owe it to all of you not to live in denial: I haven’t been fulfilling my responsibilities, and to allow something so vital to fall by the wayside …” She sighed, then raised her head. “Kyro, even if you meant only to bring this failure to my attention, I would thank you, but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? Do you have a solution to suggest?”

He might as well speak plainly: “I’d like to take over your responsibilities as the nesting grounds’ primary caretaker.”

“Kyro --” his mother began: Cynfor appeared taken aback. But Nesita, who looked unsurprised, held up a paw to stop her, then gestured for Kyro to go on.

He swallowed, suddenly nervous. Time to make his case, then. “I’ve spent my entire life here in the hatching grounds. We both know I can look after younger dragons, because I’ve been doing it since I was a hatchling myself. It’s -- it’s what I’m good at, and it’s what I like to do. I’m not saying I know everything; I have a lot to learn. But if you would be willing to teach me, to help me, I think I can take a lot of the load off of you and ensure that our hatchlings are better cared-for.”

“I don’t know about this,” Cynfor said, addressing her words primarily to Nesita. “He’s really young for so much responsibility.”

Kyro bit his tongue to avoid saying,  _ Too old to live in the hatchery, too young to run it -- what am I supposed to do? _

“Your mother has a point,” Nesita began, and Kyro’s heart sank, “but I know you to be levelheaded and responsible, and it’s not as if you’d have no one to turn to for guidance -- I still live right next door. We’ll have to consult with Gibralt, but I think you’ve made a good case for yourself. I’d be happy to start teaching you what I know about caring for eggs and hatchlings.”

Kyro found himself grinning, though he kept turning Nesita’s words over in his mind, trying to make sure she meant what he thought he’d heard. His tail lashed in excitement, smacking against the fence; he winced, not because it hurt but because he could hear the fence creak and crack at the impact. Would they use that as proof that he wasn’t ready?

Nesita smiled, though, and said, “I think we could certainly use a bit of youthful enthusiasm and energy when it comes to chasing down these hatchlings -- in fact, it looks like those two have gotten into a bit of a squabble. Why don’t we see how you do sorting that out, Kyro?”

Kyro looked over to see one of the baby guardians crying and smacking the other with her wings. He nodded and jumped to his feet, heading for them. “I -- yes -- thank you, Nesita!”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though her mother [Cerys](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=50285680) hoped that she would join the priesthood, [Zamzi](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=51041038) refuses to believe in any gods, from the little gods to the Eleven. [Kyro](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=51091008) refers the argument over Zamzi's future to [Gibralt](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47572248), who is surprised to find the little god [Bartos](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=7080788) speaking in support of Zamzi.

“There are no gods,” the young pearlcatcher informed Kyro in a disturbingly matter-of-fact way.

“She says that just to annoy me,” said the adolescent’s mother: Cerys, the little gods’ chief -- only, really -- priest. From the strained tone of her voice, it was very much working.

Kyro took a deep breath. He’d never had to deal with a family quarrel like this, let alone a theological issue, and he was a bit at sea. _Calm_ , he reminded himself. _This is a learning experience for everyone._

“What makes you believe that?” he asked Zamzi, the little atheist. “We see the gods’ work every day. Many of our fellows have gone to serve them. Here at Lukra, small gods even live among us. How can you say they don’t exist?”

“Your ‘small gods’ are nothing but magically gifted dragons,” Zamzi said. Her mother gasped, recoiled, but Kyro put up a paw when she would have responded. He wanted to hear what Zamzi had to say, not get into a holier-than-thou argument -- literally. “Their very physical presence proves that. As for the Eleven -- have you seen them? Have any of the dragons sent to serve them ever communicated their existence, or communicated with us at all? We no more know their fates than we do the fates of the dead. They may as well be dead, in fact.”

Cerys gasped again, and Kyro himself felt rather disturbed at this assertion, considering the number of hatchlings he’d raised who’d happily chosen exaltation as their path. Presumably Zamzi would not be one of them, if that was how she felt.

Perhaps a change of subject would be best.

“We’re not here to discuss the gods, really,” Kyro said. “We’re here to talk about options for Zamzi’s future.”

“I wanted her to join the priesthood, with me,” Cerys said, her voice full of maternal pique.

“I’m guessing that’s not something you’re interested in,” Kyro told Zamzi, a bit ruefully. Well, he knew what it was like to have a mother who didn’t agree with your life choices. As little as he liked Zamzi’s ideas, he would not be that obstacle in her life.

Zamzi shook her head. “I will not offer empty worship to those I live alongside, nor to fairy tales in the ether.”

“Then what do you want to do?” Kyro said, speaking over Cerys’ outraged noises. Mentally, he reviewed what he’d learned of Zamzi’s qualities while raising her here in the hatchery. The offspring of Cerys and a traveler who’d left before her hatching, she was quiet, studious, and yet clearly did not lack confidence. She’d learned to read with shocking rapidity and spent much of her free time at Bartos’ library -- in close contact with one of the very gods she denied. Bartos did not typically allow hatchlings around his precious books, but he had not complained of Zamzi in a long time; apparently she had quickly learned to treat the tomes with respect.

Zamzi considered this question for considerably longer than she had the other ones. Finally, with a solemnity that Kyro found both charming and slightly eerie in one so young, she said, “I have used logic and reason to come to my conclusions, and I would like to improve these faculties and do further research, in case I discover some evidence I have missed -- I rather expect to find that the facts confirm my belief, or lack thereof, but I must be careful of such a bias, as dragons are entirely too apt to see only what they expect. If I am correct, as I believe myself to be, I would like to explain my reasoning to others, so that they may examine and perhaps share my conclusions.”

“No,” Cerys said, firmly, her voice almost a snarl. “You will not be permitted to spread such seditious ideas -- not from my clan, not as my daughter.”

Zamzi looked up at her mother without offense, but with a certain icy steel in her eye. “If my ideas are as wrongheaded as you say -- if the gods are self-evident, as you claim -- then no one will listen to me, will they? So it won’t matter.”

“Dragons take up with foolish ideas all the time,” Cerys snapped. “Truth means less to them than style and flash -- I know this from experience, experience that you, as a child, lack.”

Kyro cleared his throat. “I believe that in this case, with such a strong conflict over Zamzi’s potential occupation, we should take the matter before Gibralt.”

Cerys nodded. “Yes. I’m sure he’ll see sense.”

“He has always struck me as a reasonable dragon,” Zamzi agreed, though she clearly expected a very different outcome than her mother did.

*

Gibralt made time for this quarrel the next day, and they convened in his office, which also served as his living space: Gibralt himself, Cerys, and Zamzi. Kyro had not come, since Zamzi did not seem to need his advice or support -- and, to be frank, Gibralt was not sure she had the latter. While he had not explicitly condemned her, Kyro’s tone when he informed Gibralt of the quarrel had suggested that he would sleep easier if the administrator took Cerys’ side.

To Gibralt’s surprise and slight chagrin, Bartos was present, though Gibralt had not invited him or even informed him of the meeting. Had he heard of Zamzi’s beliefs and, as one of the gods she rejected, come to refute them? From the look on her face as she glanced at him, Cerys seemed to think so.

“As I understand it, here is the conflict,” Gibralt said, to open the conversation. “Zamzi wishes to use our clan’s resources and the platform they provide to argue against the existence of the gods -- both the little gods here and the Eleven. Her mother, Cerys, believes that she should not be permitted to do so. This seems reasonable to me, given that the nature of our clan owes so much to the little gods. In addition, encouraging dragons to disrespect the Eleven strikes me as only a way of begging for trouble.”

Cerys looked pleased at this. Zamzi, on the other hand, seemed quite dismayed; her eyes widened, and her head turned between Gibralt and her mother. She mouthed something that Gibralt could not understand.

“If you have a defense to mount, Zamzi, please do so,” Gibralt said. “Otherwise I will have to ask you to either abandon this quest of yours or pursue it elsewhere.”

“I -- I expected you to be impartial,” Zamzi said, sounding almost offended. “You did not even hear my arguments before coming to your conclusion!”

“She has a point,” Bartos said, quietly, when Gibralt had already opened his mouth to respond that he didn’t need to hear them. “Personally, I have had several discussions with Zamzi on the matter, and I find her ideas interesting. I cannot say I agree with her on a basic level, but to defend that disagreement is a valuable mental exercise.”

Gibralt frowned, and found Cerys mirroring his expression. She looked as if she would like to say something, in fact, but remained silent: perhaps her faith would not allow her to argue with one of her gods. Gibralt, however, felt no such compunction.

“You would suggest that we support Zamzi’s spread of seditious ideas because you find it intellectually stimulating to refute them?” Gibralt asked.

“‘Seditious’ is an interesting word,” Bartos said. “So often used by those in power to refer to any idea that would have them out of it … I would not use it to refer to Zamzi’s beliefs. I think they are worth considering and discussing. If one’s faith cannot stand against doubt, then it is no true faith, and no god is honored by it.”

Well, Gibralt couldn’t argue with that, not when it came from a god himself. From the glint in Cerys’ eyes, she certainly seemed to consider it a divine proclamation. Perhaps it pleased her to think that even her disbelieving daughter could serve one of her gods in such a roundabout way -- Zamzi herself gazed at Bartos with a gratitude that verged on adoration. Gibralt, however, still had reservations.

“Do you intend Zamzi’s role to be solely to debate with you? It seems you would exhaust all avenues quickly enough.”

Bartos shrugged. “If we felt satisfied, she could always move on. But I would also be glad to offer her a position at the library, her belief or lack thereof notwithstanding. It has become rather too substantial for one dragon, even a god, to maintain, and I do have other projects and duties beyond simply shelving and dusting.”

“Yes!” Zamzi squeaked, before either Gibralt or Cerys could respond. “I mean -- I would be honored and delighted to accept such a position.”

“It is a place of honor,” Cerys said, sounding somewhat smug -- Zamzi glanced at her, ears back, but said nothing, perhaps recognizing that it would not be wise to start another argument with her mother just when she was getting her way.

“Then it’s settled,” said Gibralt, who was also disinclined to argue with Bartos. “Zamzi, you will begin working at the library, under Bartos’ supervision. While you are free to discuss your ideas with clan members, I would appreciate if you did not attempt to proselytize with pilgrims who have come to visit the little gods. I do not wish them to find disbelief here, on the gods’ very doorstep.”

Zamzi seemed about to argue when Bartos said, “I will put you in correspondence with those more likely to appreciate and explore your ideas instead, Zamzi. You will find little to interest you in debating the average dragon.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shape-shifting class is in session! [Elain](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=23355668) teaches [Cypress](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=20456151), [Kyro](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=51091008), [Zamzi](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=51041038), [Cerys](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=50285680), and [Buttercream](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49621958) how to alter their forms, while [Nesita](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=6928626) stands by as a medic.

The sound of cloth tearing made Elain wince, though it could have been worse: it had been cloth, this time, and not flesh. Nobody needed Nesita’s medical attention today, but perhaps they should have kept a tailor on retainer.

“Oh,” Cypress said, looking at the tattered scraps of cloth around his torso, and also at that torso itself, which was scarcely any less of a mess.

“What are  _ those _ ?” Buttercream said, and laughed, as if at a joke that only she understood. 

“You’re supposed to be going for fewer limbs, not more,” Elain said with brittle patience. “I’m not sure how you managed that, actually -- it’s supposed to be easier to lose limbs than to grow them.”

Poor Cypress currently sported about seven malformed arm- or wing-like appendages.

“That can’t be healthy,” Nesita said, frowning in concern. “Are you sure …?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Cypress assured her. “Just feels kind of … squirmy.”

A couple of the appendages writhed, and Kyro, who had turned a delicate shade of mauve, said, “Please don’t use that word.”

“All right, shift back, Cypress,” Elain said, glancing over her other students. She found herself surprised and somewhat pleased to discover that Zamzi, Cerys, and Buttercream looked more fascinated than disgusted by Cypress’ mistake. “Zamzi, you’re next.”

“My poor vest,” lamented once-more-a-skydancer Cypress, examining the scraps as Zamzi stepped forward. “I’ve had that vest for  _ years _ . It’s my favorite.”

Zamzi’s form wavered, twisted, shrank, and resolved itself into a two-legged shape. She was short and stout, and her short hair tended to stick up.

“Good,” Elain said, walking around Zamzi. “You’ve still got an awkward bit of tail, though. Whether you want to keep your tail in this form or not is up to you, but you need to make a decision and carry it out -- control it.”

Zamzi frowned, brow knitted in concentration, and the stub of tail receded into her back.

“Nice. Can you sit down by Kyro?”

The guardian had already assumed his two-legged form, but he almost overbalanced as he reached out an arm to help Zamzi stumble towards him. It often took new shape-shifters a while to adjust to the different muscles of each new form. 

“Remember, you want to maintain this form as long as you can,” Elain said, trying not to sound jealous: Zamzi and Buttercream could already often hold a shift longer than Elain herself could, and Cypress was even better, when he wasn’t over-shifting -- a sign of too much talent, too little control. But control would come with practice. 

At least Elain could still feel secure in her superiority to Cerys, to whom she turned next. The priestess still struggled to break out of her own natural form, let alone assume a new one. 

While Elain worked with Cerys, she heard Cypress whisper to Nesita -- who had no interest in shape-shifting, but attended every one of these lessons in case anyone got hurt -- “You think this vest can be salvaged? It was an antique …”

“Let it go, Cypress,” Nesita advised. “There are worse things to lose than a vest.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driven to distraction by [her mother's](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47777870) behavior, [Cynfor](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49625609) contemplates leaving Clan Lukra in a conversation with her friend [Shaula](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=49654296).

“I can’t do this anymore,” Cynfor said, plopping down under  _ The Starwood Chronicle _ ’s first floor canopy, a heavy piece of canvas stretched in the shadow of its propped-up tree. A rather heavy plop, considering that she was a guardian, and Ayers looked at her in some annoyance as the printing press shuddered and a couple loose screws fell to the ground, sending the bogsneak scrambling after them. 

Shaula sat at her larger friend’s head and placed a soothing paw on her snout. Cynfor’s tone had been half-laughing, but as a skydancer, Shaula could sense that she was actually quite upset. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s  _ Mother _ .” Cynfor rolled her eyes at the word alone. “She’s still at it.”

Shaula made a sympathetic noise. It wasn’t the first time Cynfor had come to complain about her mother’s behavior.

“I just don’t get it.” Cynfor tilted her head to one side, and Shaula brushed her wing against the guardian’s cheek. “How can she still try to treat me like a fresh hatchling? I’m a full grown dragon, I’ve sent three sons to the gods -- I’m bigger than she is, nose to tail-tip!”

Though she was technically correct, Shaula doubted many dragons would have identified Cynfor as the larger of the two dragons, considering that Abrianna outweighed her by a good ton and a half. But of course Shaula didn’t mention this, just made more soothing noises and patted Cynfor’s scales.

“Today she not only told me twice to eat my vegetables, but actually checked my plate to make sure I’d done so.” Cynfor threw a paw over her own eyes. “It was mortifying! She thought I might have hidden them under a napkin -- I did that  _ once _ , when I was a baby, and she’s never let me forget it.”

“That is really beyond the pale,” Shaula agreed.

Cynfor scowled. “If she wants someone to baby, why doesn’t she pick on Kyro? He never left the nursery, after all. But no,  _ him _ she respects as an adult -- it’s just me who’s always going to be incompetent in her eyes.”

“She really cares about you, though,” Shaula tried.

Snorting, Cynfor shook her head, a motion that almost knocked Shaula over. “She doesn’t care about  _ me _ ; she cares about the hatchling she remembers me being. She doesn’t even know  _ me _ as I am. I try to tell her about my plants and she just doesn’t listen, except when she’s telling me that they’re dangerous and I should be careful. It’s not as if I’ve spent my entire life working with them and know exactly what to do or anything!”

Shaula nodded, stroking Cynfor’s fins. “I know it’s frustrating to feel like she doesn’t respect or trust you.”

“It’s smothering,” Cynfor said, with more resignation than anger. “Sometimes I wish I could just get away from her.”

For a long moment Shaula said nothing. Then, a bit reluctantly, she said, “Well, you can.”

Cynfor turned her eyes on Shaula. When she spoke, the quickness with which she understood Shaula’s suggestion made it clear that she’d already been thinking about it. “I could leave the clan. I’m afraid she’d try to follow me …”

“You’d have to tell her in no uncertain terms that you wouldn’t allow it,” Shaula said. “And accept that that’s going to be a hard conversation. Maybe try to impress on her that Kyro needs her.” She hesitated, then added, “Or you could go to the gods; you could be sure of escaping her that way.”

Cynfor nodded thoughtfully. “It’s … not a terrible option. I wouldn’t mind stretching my wings without my mother constantly looking over my shoulder. And the climate here isn’t ideal for my plans, anyway … But I’d have to leave you. Unless you want to come with me?”

Shaula shook her head. “I can’t. I have work here -- they need me. I don’t want another clan, and I have too many things left to draw to go into the gods’ service.”

For a long moment Cynfor considered this. Then: “Well, we could always write.”

“We could,” Shaula agreed, with a sinking feeling.

“I’ll have to think about it.” Cynfor picked herself up, turning away from the  _ Chronicle _ ’s headquarters and back towards her garden. She glanced back at Shaula. “But I’ll tell you, I can’t take much more of this. I’d rather leave than stay here and go mad.”

“I’d rather not see you go mad,” Shaula agreed, though a bit sadly. Cynfor might not be sure herself yet, but Shaula could see which path her friend would choose, and it meant parting with her. The only question now was how completely.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After receiving notice of [Aneira's](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=50132515) decision to leave Clan Lukra, [Gibralt](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47572248) attempts to promote [Rhorlak](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=34457199) to captain of the guard, but Rhorlak refuses. He suggests that Gibralt ask [Morgana](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30482645), but she declines the post, instead announcing her intention to leave Clan Lukra. Thus, Gibralt must recruit the outsider [Imsai](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=52572379), who spars with Rhorlak and [Talise](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38899211) to demonstrate his skills.

“The stars have called me elsewhere,” Aneira said, with an air of vague apology. “It is time for me to leave this place.”

“I understand,” Gibralt said, though of course he didn’t -- not the whole thing about the stars, anyway. But all he really needed to know was that she was leaving. He had never really known what Aneira did around here, anyway. “Thank you for the time you’ve spent with us. Do you need any help making arrangements for your future?”

The spiral shook her head. “I will depart tomorrow.”

“All right. We wish you good fortune in your new home.” Gibralt turned to his papers, a dismissal, and then glanced back up. “Oh, if you see Rhorlak outside, could you please let him know that I’m ready to speak with him?”

Aneira nodded and took her leave, and soon Rhorlak’s big, scarred head poked through the window into Gibralt’s office and living quarters.

“We need to talk?” the guardian said in his gruff, gravelly voice.

“Yes.”

“Something wrong?”

“No -- the opposite, in fact.” Gibralt sat down behind his desk, facing Rhorlak. “When Lioska left, I was able to take up her administrative role, but she wasn’t only or even primarily an administrator.”

“She was guard-captain,” Rhorlak provided.

“Indeed. That’s a role I can’t fulfill, as I have no military or combat experience. We need a strong, decisive, experienced leader in charge of our defenders, which is why I’ve called you in. Among all of us, you’ve seen the most fighting; you’re a seasoned veteran. I think you would be the best dragon for the job.”

“No,” Rhorlak said, almost immediately.

Gibralt felt his feathers twitch in surprise. “No?”

“No … thank you?” The guardian seemed uncomfortable with the nicety, as if unsure how to use it.

“May I … ask you to elaborate?”

Rhorlak raised a claw to scratch at his fins. “Never been one for leadership. Better at following orders than giving them. Don’t need that complication in my life. I’m a simple dragon -- just want somebody to tell me what to hit.”

Gibralt frowned. “You’re no fool, Rhorlak. You’re good at sizing up situations and acting decisively -- just as in that whole business with Cornet.”

Rhorlak shrugged. “Gotten in trouble for ‘decisive action,’ too. No, it’s not for me. Maybe ask Morgana. She’s clever.”

“All right,” Gibralt said, hiding his disappointment. He’d already pictured a smooth future with Rhorlak as guard-captain, but he couldn’t force the guardian to take the job. “Would you mind finding Morgana and asking her to come see me?”

Rhorlak nodded assent and took his leave. Gibralt turned his attention to scheduling guard shifts -- a responsibility he had hoped to pass along to a new captain -- to occupy himself until Morgana arrived, flying through the window.

“Morgana,” Gibralt greeted her. “Did Rhorlak tell you why I’ve asked you here?”

The tundra shook her head. “I’d better not be in trouble. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re not in trouble.” Gibralt wondered if everyone he asked to speak to was going to assume that. This wasn’t a clan of hatchlings, to dread him as a strict schoolmaster. “I wanted to offer you the position of guard-captain.”

Morgana’s mouth opened in a surprised O, then assumed a crooked smile that approached “smirk” territory. “Oh. Well. This is awkward.”

“What’s awkward?” Gibralt was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

“See, I’ve actually been meaning to come talk to you, just haven’t found a good time … I’m leaving.”

“What?”

Morgana shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. “Well … I figure Lioska had the right idea, really. Here I am, supposedly this great battlemage, and I couldn’t do anything against Barholme’s attack. I … Standing there, watching dragons die, unable to help them … It sucked. And I don’t want to have to do that ever again -- I don’t want to feel helpless like that ever again. So I figure I have to get better at what I do, and, no offense, but that’s not going to happen here. Nobody else here knows half as much battle magic as I do -- I need a teacher.”

“We could send away to find a teacher for you,” Gibralt offered, weakly.

Morgana snorted. “You want to make me guard-captain and then have me answer to someone else? Don’t be ridiculous. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

Her face turned a bit sad, and she added, “I’d like a change of scenery, anyway, after … Well, I’d like a change of scenery.”

Gibralt sighed. “I understand. Do you need me to make any arrangements for you?”

“No, I’m good.” She looked a bit relieved to have this conversation over with -- clearly she’d been mulling it over for a while. “I’ll leave in a couple days, unless you need me longer.”

It was short notice, but best to get it over with, Gibralt figured. “That’s fine. Thank you for speaking with me.”

Morgana left smiling. Gibralt felt more like swearing. He’d struck out twice; now who would take up a captain’s duties? There were only two guards left he hadn’t asked. (Which rather called for recruitment on all levels, not just of a captain.) Aurus he dismissed out of hand; she spent too much time away from Clan Lukra’s territory, on her demon hunts. That left Talise, and Talise … 

Gibralt rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t known the Talise that long, but you didn’t have to, to come to a simple conclusion: Talise was not captain material. Of all the words Gibralt might use to characterize the pearlcatcher, “responsible” was not one of them, except in the context of “responsible for a diplomatic incident over six ‘misplaced’ crates of frogs that had three clans’ representatives at each other’s throats and me tearing my feathers out in frustration.” And that was as an ordinary guard; Gibralt cringed to think of the trouble Talise might cause as captain.

So Talise was out, and Aurus was out, and Morgana and Rhorlak had excused themselves from consideration. Gibralt had only one option left: to recruit outside the clan. He’d hoped to promote from within, to avoid complaints that he, originally an outsider himself, sought to seize power and fill the clan’s leadership with strangers. But now he had no choice.

Sighing, Gibralt turned to his papers. It looked like he had more letters to write.

 

*

 

Gibralt watched, impressed, as a skydancer gracefully evaded attacks from both Talise and Rhorlak. Though Rhorlak held his own, he looked slow and clumsy beside the skydancer’s effortless elegance, and they both left Talise in the dust. When the sparring match finished, Talise flopped over in theatrical exhaustion, and Rhorlak’s sides heaved, but the skydancer appeared unbothered.

“I think that’s a yes from us,” Talise panted from the ground, raising one claw as if seeking support from the starwood branches above. “Shade, that beast-son fought rings around me.”

The skydancer’s lips twitched at the insult, but since he said nothing, Gibralt thought optimistically that perhaps he found it amusing rather than offensive. Instead he turned to Rhorlak. “You fought well.”

“You too. Ever meet a Marlai out of Dragonhome? You fight a bit like them.”

“I can’t say I recognize the name, but one of my tutors was from Dragonhome. Perhaps they crossed paths.”

“Sir Imsai,” Gibralt broke in. He wasn’t completely sure if the title still applied -- the skydancer’s previous post had been as a knight in a kingdom in the Labyrinth -- but better safe than sorry, especially after Talise’s disrespect. And it certainly didn’t pay to offend a dragon who could fight like that. “Considering what we’ve just seen, as well as the high praise given you by your previous employers, I would be happy to offer you the position in question.”

Imsai nodded, accepting this perhaps as his due -- though given how impeccable both his references and his performance had been, that wasn’t so arrogant. Then he paused and glanced around, taking in Talise still lying in the dirt, Rhorlak’s scarred and brutal countenance, and the trees around them … He hadn’t yet decided whether to accept the offer, Gibralt realized. Rather than finding this offensive, Gibralt chose to see it as a good sign: if Imsai took care in his decision, he’d be less likely to back out quickly, and Gibralt could hope he showed similar prudence in other areas.

“If you’d like to explore the grounds, I can accompany you, and answer any questions you may have,” Gibralt offered, though he had actually planned to return to his office and catch up on his correspondence, which was eternally behind. But he wanted to ensure that Imsai received a good impression of Clan Lukra -- he’d already stood out among the candidates applying for the post of guard-captain, so the demonstration of his skills had only strengthened Gibralt’s conviction that he was the dragon for the job.

“That would be most welcome, thank you,” Imsai said.

“Of course,” Gibralt replied. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Please get going,” Talise said, in a sarcastic imitation of Gibralt’s and Imsai’s polite tones. “If you two keep kissing each other’s tails, I’m going to vomit.”

Rhorlak snorted, though as with Imsai, Gibralt couldn’t tell if the guardian was amused or annoyed by Talise’s words. Gibralt himself felt rather mortified. Lifting Talise bodily back to his feet, Rhorlak said, “Let’s get back to work. See you later, Captain.”

Gibralt took the fact that Imsai nodded at this, rather than asserting that he hadn’t agreed to stay or be captain yet, as another good sign.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Cerys](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=50285680) and [Acrux](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=12341839) observe that the power of the little gods is fading, and consult [Bartos](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=7080788), [Kelsus](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=6993741), and [Sovari](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=9375181). [Frip](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=18041467) offers some insight, then takes Acrux and Cerys to a meeting with [Gibralt](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47572248), [Zamzi](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=51041038), and Bartos, where Frip reveals her grand plan for Clan Lukra to found a university. As the plan is discussed, Cerys chooses to leave Clan Lukra.

“Can you feel it?” Cerys asked, urgently.

Acrux nodded. “The song is fading.”

“I can feel the power here ebbing.” Cerys fiddled with her own whiskers, though Acrux had never seen her fidget before. “We should consult the gods.”

So they did. It took them a moment to drag Bartos away from the book he was reading, but when they did, he nodded. “While overall I’ve seen the usual surge in magical energies from the Starfall Celebration, the particular aura I’ve observed around those of us who were affected by Barholme’s attack -- the ‘little gods’ -- does appear decreased. I’ve been taking daily observations, but as I’ve only noticed this in the last few days, since the festival started, I don’t have enough data yet to draw any conclusions.”

“But if the gods’ power is waning -- ” Cerys said, worry in her voice.

“It will be interesting to see how this develops,” Bartos said. “Perhaps the effects were only temporary.”

Cerys’ eyes widened. “I will pray that they were not.”

Bartos shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind, personally. The additional information I have access to is not very useful given that I cannot cite a source for it, and the pilgrims occupy time that could be better spent elsewhere.”

Thanking Bartos for his time, Acrux drew a scandalized Cerys away.

“Bartos isn’t the only god who might have insight,” Acrux said. “We should ask Frip. She always knows what’s going on. Sovari might have some insight, as well.”

They found Sovari first, but she shook her head.

“You’re not wrong,” she said. “My own … abilities … remain steady. And I can tell you that the others will retain their immortality. But their divinity -- well, I don’t know about that. Ask Frip.”

Frip wasn’t in her quarters, causing Acrux to wonder if she ever was -- he’d sought her out many times and never found her there. As he and Cerys walked through the lair looking for her, Kelsus fluttered down from a perch in the trees above and landed on Acrux’s antlers.

“Something big is coming,” he said, then immediately flew away towards the familiar pens, where he could count on finding Geras.

“Kelsus, wait -- ” Acrux began, starting after the fae.

“Let him go,” Frip said, dropping from the sky directly onto Acrux’s nose. “He doesn’t know anything more than that.”

“But you do,” Acrux said, lowering his head so that Cerys could better join their conversation.

“Of course.” Frip smirked at Acrux and Cerys and said no more.

“What is happening?” Cerys asked, more willing than Acrux to play into Frip’s theatrical nature. “If the gods are losing their power, how can we restore it?”

“You can’t.” Frip’s smile widened at the horrified look on Cerys’ face. “Trust me, they won’t miss it. But you will, won’t you?”

As Cerys’ tail lashed, Acrux said, “Sovari said they’d --  _ you’d  _ \-- still be immortal.”

“That’s right. But other than that, you can start treating them like ordinary dragons again.”

“But not you?”

Frip’s face split in a grin. “When have I ever been an ordinary dragon?”

Well, Acrux couldn’t argue with that.

Cerys stepped towards Frip. “Of course I am horrified to hear that the gods will no longer watch over us -- ”

“They never did that much watching, did they?” Frip shrugged. “We’re not very good at gods. If you want my divine insight, Rysies, you should aim your devotion elsewhere.”

Jaw tight, Cerys said, “I will take that into consideration.”

“I’m about to go talk to Gerald about what to do about the whole thing, if you want to come,” Frip said.

“I will,” Cerys said, her tone somewhat sharp, as if she suspected Frip of some scheme. Hardly an unfounded suspicion, Acrux thought, but if Frip were scheming, he doubted he or Cerys could do much to stop her. He never had been able to … Though he struggled to recall a time when he’d set himself in direct opposition to Frip.

“I know,” Frip said, with one of her inside-joke smiles. “Let’s go.”

When they reached Gibralt’s office -- due to his great size, Acrux had to poke his head in through the window -- Bartos and Zamzi were already there. 

“You asked us to meet you here?” Bartos asked Frip, earning a certain look from Gibralt, who might well ask why Frip was asking other dragons into his office -- and why Bartos had looked to Frip for information rather than the clan’s nominal leader. But then Frip’s word usually did end up as law; the phrase “power behind the throne” occurred to Acrux, though he wouldn’t insult Gibralt by speaking it.

“I did,” Frip said, her voice smugly cheerful -- as usual, she sounded as if deeply amused by some joke only she understood, and perhaps one that made the rest of them out for fools. “I think you’ll like what I have to say.”

“Then say it,” said Gibralt, with uncharacteristic bad humor. In his thoughts Acrux heard,  _ Swans in here like she owns the place -- god or not …  _

“Gladly.” Frip stepped forward into the center of Gibralt’s office as if taking a stage. “The power of the little gods is waning -- Acrux, Rysies, and Barty noticed as much. It’s going to continue to wane; turns out it’s temporary after all.”

“Surely you knew it would be,” Acrux interrupted. The thought had just occurred to him. “You are Fate, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes ‘Fate’ involves making things up as you go.” Frip grinned: this, too, amused her. “Plans change.”

“Whose plans?” Zamzi asked, leaning forward with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Acrux wondered what the young atheist thought of the concept of Fate. “Yours?”

“This isn’t the time for theology,” Frip replied.  _ Then when _ , Acrux wondered,  _ will it finally be time for you to explain yourself? _ “Thirty-second of Neveruary, Acrux. But enough of that,” she continued quickly, before Acrux could respond. He’d forgotten that he wasn’t the only mind-reader in Clan Lukra. “We need to focus on the future. Right now, we’ve directed most of our clan towards the worship of the little gods, along with some leftover oracular activity. Pilgrims support our economy, create the daily business of our clan -- we rely on them. Well, we  _ relied _ on them. That well is going to dry up pretty fast as people realize we don’t have much in the way of gods anymore.”

“Surely faith is not so fickle …” Cerys began, then trailed off. From the look on her face, she knew quite well how fickle faith could be.

“Trust me. We won’t be a pilgrimage site for much longer. Kypri and I will make sure of that.”

Cerys looked scandalized by this. Acrux felt rather similarly. Why would Frip sabotage her own clan? Well, why did Frip do anything? But: “Cypress? Why would he help you?”

“He likes the truth, Acrux,” Frip said. “And he likes to spread it around. Even without my involvement, you’d find yourselves hard-pressed to keep him from trumpeting to the skies as soon as he figures out what’s going on -- and you wouldn’t be able to pull the wool over his eyes, either. Better to get out on top of it and rebrand.”

“Rebrand?” Gibralt echoed. 

“We need to find something else to do, a purpose beyond gods and oracles.” Frip’s eyes gleamed. “And, if you don’t mind, I have a suggestion.”

“Of course you do,” Bartos muttered. “Well, get on with it.”

“We have always been a clan of scholars. You’d know that better than anyone, Barty. Remember back when Aridatha promised to make scholarship our main export?”

Bartos nodded, and Acrux wondered if he’d imagined the slightly wistful look in the tundra’s eyes. Those had been simpler times, long ago … And they’d lost a lot of friends since then.

“Well, let’s go back to our roots, but with a bit more organization this time.” Frip looked around the room. “Let’s found a university.”

“A university?” Gibralt said, then shook himself slightly.  _ Can’t just repeat everything she says _ , Acrux heard from him. “You want us to, what, take in students?”

“Yes. And turn them out -- with degrees, we’d hope.” Frip turned to Bartos. “We have a lot of very intelligent dragons here, experts in their fields. Why shouldn’t they teach others what they know? Trust me, you might end up the grumpy professor, but you’ll enjoy it.”

“Hmm,” Bartos said. He glanced at Zamzi.  _ Working with young dragons more pleasant than I’d expected _ , he whispered in Acrux’s mind. “It’s not a bad idea, I must admit.”

“It sounds excellent to me,” Zamzi said, rather breathily. Her tail twitched. Acrux could hear the excitement in her mental voice:  _ Dignified, Zamzi. You are not a child to go squealing after some new idea. _

“See?” Frip said. “We’ve got our first student already.”

Zamzi frowned. “I would hope that my experience and prior scholarship -- ”

“Grad student,” Frip elaborated. “Adjunct. Maybe soon you’ll get tenure.”

“We’d have to hire professors,” Gibralt said doubtfully.

Frip shook her head. “We already have them! Nesita -- healing. Bartos -- magic. Elain -- beastclan affairs. Isildur -- grammar. Shaula -- art. Buttercream -- languages. Aurus -- demonology.”

“That’s an odd scattering of disciplines for a university to teach,” Acrux commented.

Frip grinned at him as if he’d caught her mid-prank. “All right, we’d have to hire some professors. But we can always use new blood, anyway. And I’m not suggesting we kick anyone out who’s already here, unless they want to leave.”

She looked at Cerys as she said this. The pearlcatcher appeared lost in thought, a severe frown on her face; noticing Frip’s gaze, she looked up, and spoke somewhat sharply. “I do not see a place for myself in your new university.”

“You could teach theology,” Gibralt suggested.

Cerys shook her head. “No. I am not interested in teaching. I am interested in worship, and if there are no longer gods here to worship … I suppose you have won.”

She addressed the last sentence to Zamzi, who blinked and looked at her mother. She opened her mouth, closed it, and finally said, with a mixture of sorrow and defiance, “I suppose I have.”

“I will pack,” Cerys said, her expression bitter.

“Cerys -- ” Gibralt began, but she was already gone.

“Mother …” Zamzi murmured, a bereft expression on her face. Then she visibly steeled herself and turned to Bartos. “Well, for my part, I am ready to do whatever it takes to contribute to our new occupation. I imagine the library will see quite a few more visitors.”

“I imagine it will,” Bartos responded. “Perhaps we should actually write down our catalogue, to supplement our memorization. Would you like to go start that effort?”

“Yes, I will do so at once,” Zamzi said, with relief, and left -- but not before Acrux heard,  _ Perhaps I should speak to Mother …  _

Meanwhile, Gibralt thought crossly,  _ I never actually gave this whole thing the go-ahead. But I know a losing battle when I see it. _ He sighed and said, “Very well. I will begin to make arrangements. Frip, I imagine you could be of considerable aid in that task -- would you help me?”

“Of course, Gerald,” Frip said.

“My name is not -- ” Gibralt began.

But Frip spoke over him: “We’ll do Lioska proud.”

From the expression on his face, Gibralt didn’t appreciate this reminder of the clan’s previous leader -- whose footprints he had to fill. But, shaking his head as if trying to shed his feelings like water, he moved on.

“Acrux, would you see what the others think of the idea?” Gibralt asked. “Make sure no one else has major objections. If they do, ask them to come to me so that we can hear them out and take their opinions into account.”

“And I will get to work in the library,” Bartos said. He turned to go, then stopped. “I suppose I have to plan lessons now, as well. Hm …”

“You’ll have fun,” Frip promised. “We all will.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Gibralt](https://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47572248) inspects the changes to the lair that the druid and architect [Melasune](https://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=42743451) has made, then bids her farewell when she decides to leave Clan Lukra.

“What do you think?” Melasune said.

“You’ve done a splendid job,” Gibralt said, sincerely. 

They stood in front of the great ruined trunk of the star wood tree that had fallen during Barholme’s attack -- but it sat ruined no longer. Melasune had transformed it, turning a reminder of their losses into a look at the future. Not, of course, that Gibralt knew that much about those losses, having joined Clan Lukra only after the disaster that had felled the tree.

“Shall I give you the grand tour?” Melasune said, smiling.

“That would be lovely.”

Melasune started from the southeast corner of the huge trunk, near the hatchery. There, she’d hollowed out a large alcove into the trunk itself, large enough for an imperial to sit in. Then she’d added a circle of wooden fences and walls, patchwork, to outline a space in the grass that extended the alcove, all shaded by canvas awnings.

“You’ll have to close this one in harsh weather,” Melasune said. “But you don’t get too much of that here, with those ridges blocking the wind. And when it’s sunny, it’ll be a beautiful place to study. I’ve enchanted it to keep out bugs and too much heat, and for acoustics -- those’ll be important if someone’s teaching in here.”

Gibralt nodded. The current plan was to use the spaces in the fallen tree as classrooms for the soon-to-arrive students of Lukra University. The name still sounded odd to him, but he knew he’d get used to it. It had taken him time to get used to writing  _ Clan Lukra _ , too.

“Then up here …” Melasune climbed up the side of the trunk -- she’d carved in stairs, Gibralt saw, for snappers and others wished not to fly, though he himself simply fluttered to the top. The upper surface of the trunk had been sanded down to a smooth plane, enclosed by canvas and wood running between the various branches that still rose towards the sky despite the tree’s death. This space was open to the sky.

“Again, probably not somewhere you want to be if it rains,” Melasune said with a note of apology in her voice. “I put in spells to keep the rain out, actually, but they take more power than the ones downstairs, so you’ll have to decide whether to use them. Now, I’ve saved the best for last …”

She led Gibralt downstairs again, then through a large arch in the side of the trunk. Inside was a grand hall, almost the entire trunk hollowed out, silvery wood under their feet and over their heads. At the other end of the trunk, on the other side, was a second arch. Spread on the floor were many brightly-colored cushions, blankets, rugs -- enough to keep a crowd comfortable.

“It’s beautiful,” Gibralt said.

“Your tone says there’s a ‘but’ coming,” Melasune said, frowning. “Is something wrong? Is it the  _ Chronicle _ ?”

In addition to her work on this trunk, Melasune had shored up the half-fallen tree that had once housed  _ The Starwood Chronicle _ , creating a great space under it where Ayers had expanded the  _ Chronicle _ ’s printing operations, and room for offices above.

“No, Cypress told me they’re very happy with their space.”

“The library? Or -- there’s not that much I can do, if Acrux isn’t content, but I can try.” Melasune’s other projects had been expanding Clan Lukra’s library -- Bartos had taken the clan’s changed occupation as an excuse to order dozens of new books, which he argued were absolutely vital. She had also helped, a little, in Acrux’s move from the lean-to he had once shared with Telyn to the ground floor of one of the star wood trees. Mostly Melasune’s involvement had been to divide up the lean-to to serve as housing for more professors, as they were running out of trees.

“Everything is fine, Melasune,” Gibralt said. “Actually, I was worried about you. It’s just, when you talked about the clan, you said ‘you’ and not ‘we’ …”

“Oh.” The snapper relaxed. “I kept looking for the right time to tell you. It’s true: now that my work here is done, I’ll be on my way.”

“You may have completed our major renovations, but we can always use someone to tend to the trees,” Gibralt said. “And now, with students coming -- your knowledge would be a great asset to pass on to others.”

Melasune shook her head. “Oh, I know there’s a place for me here if I want it. The problem is, I just don’t want it. It’s been nice, stopping here with you, but my feet are itching for me to be on my way. You know how snappers are -- and Wind dragons. This place is lovely, but there are so many other places out there I haven’t seen yet. And you don’t  _ need _ me anymore, even if I am welcome here. Somewhere else probably does.”

“Are you sure? We would love to have you here.”

“I’m sure.” Melasune shrugged and gave Gibralt a slightly crooked smile. “If things don’t work out, maybe I’ll swing by this way again, yes? But first I have to go see what’s out there.”

Gibralt bowed his head. “If you do return, you will be welcome, for however long you wish to stay. You have given much to this clan, with your designs, and wherever you go next will be fortunate to have you.”

“Thank you,” Melasune said.


End file.
